These Arms
by Brightly Bound
Summary: Ginny's path to Harry was finally clear. It's too bad that bravery, of all things, got in the way.
1. Chapter 1: The Repercussions of Bravery

Title: These Arms

Words: 4,579

Rating: PG-13

Genres: Romance, Drama, Action/Adventure

Characters: Harry/Ginny, All

Summary: Ginny's path to Harry was finally clear. It's too bad that bravery, of all things, got in the way.

Author's Note: This story takes place just as Harry Potter defeats He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named and before the DH Epilogue. I know it's been done a million times, but I couldn't help myself.

The title of this story is from the song "These Arms" by Matt Costa.

Enjoy!

Chapter 1: The Repercussions of Bravery

_Why can't you find a way?_

_Won't you find the way back to these arms?_

_This is our day today._

_Won't you find the way back to these arms?_

_~Ginny. May 2__nd__, 1998._

Ginny Weasley wasn't sure where some of her organs were at the moment, but they certainly felt like they were in the wrong places: her heart felt like it was beating somewhere in her throat, blocking her windpipe so that she had to breathe in quick, short gasps; her stomach, it had plummeted to her feet and was clenched and knotted tightly with fear.

They raised their wands at the exact same time...

The body of Lord Voldemort fell with a dull thud, feebly stirring dust and debris. It was then that Ginny knew all her insides would arrange themselves back to their proper places, like magic, and everything would be just fine.

Harry Potter had just killed the Darkest and most powerful wizard of all time.

She rushed forward with a cry of relief. Ron and Hermione reached Harry first, but as soon as they released him, Ginny was there, finally, where she'd wanted to be for the last two-hundred and seventy three days. She wrapped her arms around Harry and squeezed him hard, warmth flooding through her entire body at the contact. His hands, trembling still, slipped into her hair then fell to her waist. With tears of joy blurring her vision, she stared into his emerald eyes fleetingly: they showed nothing but relief and exhaustion as her hands framed his face, fingertips in his dirty, sweaty hair.

He was alive, and for right now, that was enough.

They had all the time in the world.

Admittedly, all she wanted to do was kiss him, wanted to make a fool of herself in front of the whole Wizarding World, selfishly wanted to keep him to herself. Instead, she pulled away reluctantly, so that others could shake the hand of the Boy Who Lived Again, could hug him, share their happiness and grief with him.

Holding on to the feeling of his warm hand on the small of her back, she rubbed at her palms, itchy from his stubbly cheeks, and pushed herself through the crowd of ecstatic witches and wizards.

_We have all the time in the world_.

With that quick and happy thought, the icy fingers of dread gripped Ginny around the neck, choking her. All traces of her previous joy were gone, extinguished in an instant, like the lives of so many. Fred was gone, never to celebrate the fall of the vilest sorcerer in the world. Her dearest friend Colin, gone as well. And Remus and Tonks- they'd worked so hard for this day. _Poor Teddy. Poor Andromeda._

And her mother, her brave mother, had nearly died to protect her…

Incredible pain, like that of the Cruciatus Curse thrown at her by the Carrows, ripped through her every nerve. She stifled a sob and searched for her mother, eyes seeking for the telltale red hair. She finally spotted her with Harry, her hands on his cheeks, where Ginny's had been only a moment before.

About to head back towards the throng, to Harry and Mum, she was thwarted when a cold and clammy hand suddenly grasped her right arm.

She whirled around, hand reaching for her wand, a scream rising in her throat.

"George! Oh, George, you scared me." She'd thought he was a Death Eater. Pressing her hand to her heaving chest, Ginny stared at the broken man before her, his face pale and brown eyes empty. A tear slipped down her cheek. She wiped it away quickly. "Oh, George," she said again.

"This isn't fair. This isn't fair. I should be happy. I should be _happy_," he said, staring over her shoulder where she knew Fred's body lay.

How long did they stand there? How long did they cry in each other's arms? It hardly mattered; when she heard Mum's voice, felt Dad's warm hand on her shoulder, the pain she felt eased, but only just. The Weasleys were strong, and they would get through this, together.

Mum pushed her gently onto a bench. The Great Hall's tables had appeared, along with its benches, seemingly out of nowhere. Food appeared seconds later, and Dad poured her a glass of pumpkin juice and pressed it into her hand. Ginny took a sip and coughed, her raw throat protesting, spraying juice- which tasted of dust- everywhere.

Dad thumped her on the back as she went to put down the cup, making liquid slosh everywhere. Her mother Vanished it with a quick swish of her wand.

"Mummy?" Ginny whispered after taking a steady breath; she was unable to recall the last time she'd called her mother that.

"Yes, Ginny?"

"I love you."

"I love you, too, my darling."

Ginny rested her head on her mother's shoulder, her aching body complaining at the strain on her back. Ignoring it, she counted her blessings, listened to the deep rumble of her brothers' voices, and dozed off as her mother stroked her hair.

Ginny was brought back to a state of consciousness by the smell of something very pleasant and comforting permeating her senses. She tried to fight waking fully, but the aroma of bacon freshly fried, bread toasted to perfection and- she took a whiff- yes, _yes_, the scent of chips (she _loved_ chips), lightly salted and brilliantly crisp, awoke her.

When she finally came to, forcing her eyelids open, the sun was high in the sky, glaring at her from above, and there was an awful crick in her neck. She rubbed at it, sat up from her mother's bosom, and gazed around the Great Hall with squinting eyes. _Oh,_ she thought_. _She was expecting to rouse at The Burrow, not here.

"Awake finally, I see," Mum said, patting her cheek softly. Ginny took notice that her mother's eyes, once a sparkling brown, were now dull and muddy. "Eat something, dear. They've only just sent up lunch."

Ginny refused to think about Fred at that moment, even though a lump bubbled in her throat, refused to connect his death to her mother's dark eyes; it would not help Mum cope with the loss of her son if her only daughter was a sobbing wreck. So, she reached, after a small hesitation, for the bacon sandwich her mother had just constructed. Her stomach was grumbling fiercely as she contemplated eating it: how could she be hungry at a time like this?

Her mother piled chips high onto her plate. Ginny brought the sandwich halfway to her mouth then stopped. She had just noticed that her father and brothers were no longer surrounding her.

"Where is everyone?" she asked, her stomach protesting even more loudly when she put the sandwich down.

Mum, putting together bacon and bread, bacon and bread, bacon and bread, did not look up at her from her task as she said, "Your father and Bill are at The Burrow, to inspect the damage while we've been gone. Charlie and Percy are with George, and Ron is, I assume, off with Harry and Hermione."

"When did you see them last?"

"I haven't seen the three of them since…" she trailed off.

"Since The Battle?" Ginny asked.

Mum nodded, her hands shaking around the sandwich she'd just assembled. Ginny took it from her, placed it on the tower of chips on her plate, and took her mother's hands in her own, squeezing them.

Ginny took a deep and calming breath then said, "We'll be okay, Mum," even though she herself had trouble believing it.

Her mother's watery smile and silence did not reassure her.

Mum patted her hand and said briskly, "Be a dear and take these up to Ron, Harry—" Ginny ignored the sweeping sensation in her stomach at the mention of his name, "—and Hermione when you've finished eating." She pointed at one of the two platters of sandwiches, stood and straightened her robes, then grabbed the other plate. "I think I'll go and take these to your brothers."

"But what about you, Mum? Aren't you going to eat?" Ginny asked worriedly.

"I'm not hungry now, dear."

Mum walked out of the Great Hall, and Ginny watched her in concern. She did not see her mother succumb to tears just outside its splintered doors.

Turning back to her lunch, Ginny stared at her plate. She suddenly wasn't hungry now, either.

_If only Fred was here_, she thought gloomily. _He'd finish this off in an instant_.

Fred loved bacon sandwiches. They weren't his favorite by far, but he loved sandwiches in general- they were his go-to meal. Ginny thought back to summers at The Burrow, when she used to help prepare her brothers' lunches. Fred's ideal sandwich would be overloaded with roasted chicken and red onions. She'd made it for him many times over the years. And now to think that she'd never make him one again…

Ginny picked up her sandwich, brought it to her mouth, but could not bring herself to take a bite. Eyes burning, she put her sandwich down yet again, grabbed a napkin, and swiped at the tears that started pouring down her face. They flowed like rivers, and before long, Ginny was sobbing into the balled up, soggy napkin, struggling to breathe…

"There, there, Ginny."

Ginny looked up through watery eyes. The glowing form of a young woman with dirty blonde hair and protuberant silvery eyes gazed down at her with a faraway expression on her face.

"L-Luna," she wheezed in acknowledgment, blowing her nose into the rough and ragged napkin.

"You're almost purple," Luna said evenly, sitting down onto the bench beside Ginny. "Please don't forget to breathe." And then she gathered her best friend into her arms.

The shoulder of Luna's jumper was soaked by the time Ginny caught her breath and stopped weeping. She was about to wipe her red and runny nose on the sleeve of her sweater when Luna conjured a handkerchief with a wave of her wand. Ginny took it gratefully.

"Thanks, Luna."

Her friend tilted her head and stared dreamily over Ginny's shoulder. "I think about Mum everyday," Luna said suddenly. "Since I was so young when she died, though, I'm not sure I felt the same thing you're feeling now. I was confused for a long time. What's death to a nine-year-old?"

She looked away when Luna's eyes flickered to hers, their probing gaze unsettling her. Ginny knew where this conversation was heading. She'd had several talks with Luna before the winter holidays, about Harry and the possibility that he may not come back, about the Veil and the afterlife. Luna had never mentioned her mother before, though.

She forced herself to meet Luna's eyes.

"Daddy always told me that Mum was in a better place, but that she was still here, all around me, and she would always love me. And I believe him, Ginny, 'til this day. I think you should believe, too. It isn't fair what happened to my mum or Fred, but it does get easier… thinking about them, as long as you accept that they're gone and that we'll be joining them soon enough."

Ginny swallowed hard. She would not admit to anyone that she was terrified of death, or more reasonably, the unknown. Straightening her spine and pushing her shoulders back, she resolved to overcome her fear in due time- no one would be the wiser. No one but Luna, that is, who unquestionably already knew one of her greatest fears without having to declare it.

"D'you know who you should talk to about this?"

"Luna, I don't feel like—"

"Harry," Luna said. "He died, didn't he? He can tell you what comes after _this_." As she spoke the last word, Luna waved a hand around vaguely.

Ginny stared, thunderstruck. "I couldn't possibly—"

"Yes, you could," Luna interjected, the corners of her lips tugging upwards. "If I'm not mistaken, I'm pretty sure that around this time last year, you were glued to his lips."

"That doesn't mean anything!" Ginny shrieked, heat rising in her cheeks. She looked down the long table apologetically; she'd earned a few stares for her exclamation. She continued, more quietly as she turned back to Luna, "For all I know, he could've gone off with-with some Muggle girl he'd met while doing whatever it was he was doing, or a-a _Veela_."

"'I think dating opportunities are going to be pretty thin on the ground,'" Luna quoted in a sing-song voice, leaving Ginny once again flabbergasted- she'd forgotten telling Luna about that glorious moment in her bedroom last year.

She crossed her arms and huffed. "Look, Luna. Do you see him here anywhere? No," she said, answering her own question quickly before Luna could interrupt. "If he was still interested, he'd be here."

"Or he's so exhausted from dying and being reborn and killing the Darkest wizard of all time that he's up in the Gryffindor dorm, comatose."

Acknowledging that Luna had a very good point, Ginny stood up and stretched her aching muscles, very aware that she'd been sitting for far too long in one position- her bum was rather sore.

"Well, there's only one way to find out." Ginny poured three tall glasses full with pumpkin juice then grasped the basket of chips and the plate of sandwiches her mother had prepared for Harry, Ron and Hermione. "Help me carry this up."

They walked out of the Great Hall, Luna levitating the drinks in front of her, and up the battered marble staircases, skipping carefully over rubble and missing stairs. Wondering why she hadn't followed Luna in casting a simple _Wingardium Leviosa_, Ginny hoisted the plates from her hands to her arms and concentrated on her feet, balancing more than once precariously on the edge of a step.

When they had reached the third flight of stairs, Ginny was exhausted and having trouble keeping up with her friend. She had just ascended halfway up the staircase when she stopped abruptly at the sight ahead of her.

A large hole had been blasted right in the center of the staircase. Ginny looked over towards Luna, who was bending at the waist to peer down the Hagrid-sized fissure.

"We're pretty high up, aren't we?" Luna said pensively.

"You're making me nervous. Get away from the edge, will you?" she said tensely.

Ginny, unafraid of heights but of her friend falling ten feet and hurting herself, waited until Luna took a step away from the edge before looking around for a way up. There, just to the left of Luna by the banister, was a space large enough for them to step up and past. However, they would likely need to clutch on to the railing to make it up safely.

"Levitate the pumpkin juice and this food up to the landing, Luna, that way our hands are free to hold the banister." After the task was complete, Ginny rubbed her sore arms and said, "You go on first."

Luna tucked her wand behind her ear and carefully stepped up the first stair. Ginny followed just seconds later.

"You know, after this morning, I would have thought that we'd be done with adventures."

"I hardly call this an adventure, Luna. More like an inconvenience, don't you think?"

Luna's tinkling laugh turned into a yelp of surprise- her right foot slipped on the edge of the seventh step past the hole, twisting so that it hung for a moment in thin air. Ginny gasped and reached forward to steady her friend, taking her right hand off the banister the very instant the staircase decided to change…

The sudden movement jerked Ginny's left hand off the handrail and she flailed, trying desperately to reach for something that would keep her grounded.

"_No!_ Ginny!" Luna cried, stretching her arm out for Ginny to seize.

There was nothing but air: in her hands, rushing past her ears, whooshing through her hair and into her mouth as she screamed.

Her head slammed into a series of jagged marble steps and pain sliced and burned through her every nerve. Darkness seeped from the corners of her eyes as she gazed up, unseeing, at the horrified look on Luna's face.

Someone far-off was shouting for help.

Before her world turned black, Ginny thought inexplicably of Harry.

_BOOM! CRASH!_

Ginny woke with a start, eyelids shooting open on their own accord before she clamped them shut with a groan. Her head and body throbbed in excruciating pain.

"_Reparo!_" someone said.

"Ron! You blundering oaf!"

"I'm sorry! I'm _sorry!_ But who the bloody hell leaves a bloody tree stump in the middle of the bloody hospital wing to bloody trip over?"

_Oh, Ron_, Ginny thought, the corners of her mouth tugging up into a small smile. It fell quickly. _Hospital wing? What happened?_

"Who the bloody hell doesn't see it in time?"

"Boys!"

Though her head felt like it was being hammered on by half a dozen troll clubs, Ginny was thoroughly amused; she always loved it when her brothers were scolded.

She peered out through her lashes. Her mother was hovering over her. "Ginny? Are you awake? How're you feeling?" Mum asked with furrowed brows.

Ginny blinked her eyes open fully and frowned. Her father's face popped into view, directly across from her mother- he had the same look of worry upon his face.

"What do you mean how am I feeling? I've just got a headache—"

Suddenly, a sharp pain flared at the base of her skull. She went to touch it and found her right arm restrained.

"Ouch," she whimpered, looking down at her body; she looked like she was wrapped from head to toe in gauze. "What happened?"

She looked around at her family. To her right and beside her mother sat George, his face pale, and Charlie, burns intermingling with scratches all up and down his arms. Bill, face still scarred, was standing by the foot of her hospital bed with his beautiful wife Fleur. To Ginny's left, next to her father, sat Percy, straight-backed, and beside him stood Ron, almost out of place without Harry and Hermione flanking him.

"You fell down a flight of stairs." Ginny stared down to the foot of the bed at Fleur. "Eet was 'orrible. Luna and I both tried to stop you, but we were too late."

Fleur's French accent did nothing for her headache, or her memory. She struggled to remember, to sit up, but with a great swell of noise, they all protested, easily pushed her back into bed, which was fine with Ginny- moving proved to be difficult and agonizing- her bones felt like mush.

"You fell _through_ a staircase first," said a miserable voice. Luna stepped out from behind Fleur. "You almost fell on top of your sister-in-law, actually."

"Pity," Ginny muttered before she could stop herself.

Bill glared at her and George snorted. Everyone looked over at him in surprise. Would that be the last time he'd laugh in the foreseeable future?

Ginny looked around at her family as Madam Pomfrey bustled in, pulling and closing the curtains around her bed behind her. "Look, I still don't remember this happening—"

"That'll be because of the concussion," Madam Pomfrey said assertively, placing a tray of potions carefully on a side table. "Fractured your skull in three places! Don't worry, dear, I patched that up first."

"First?" Ginny asked nervously.

Madam Pomfrey listed her injuries as she poured and poured a multitude of potions into small cups: a fractured skull, which had already been mentioned; her left shoulder had been dislocated; her left arm was shattered and being regrown; three ribs had been broken; both of her legs had cracked nearly in half; and her right ankle, the one a Death Eater had broken during The Department of Mysteries Battle, had broken again.

"You'll remember falling, though you might not want to, soon enough- something will trigger it. Now," she said, "I need you to take all of these after your dinner—"

"Dinner?" Ginny asked. She looked around and noticed for the first time that the room was lit with oil lamps and torches, and that the sky through the windows was a powdery purple. "But I was just taking lunch up…"

And then it dawned on her. Just like that. Where she had been, what she had been doing, how she had fallen…

She looked up at a smirking Madam Pomfrey, then over to Luna.

"It's not your fault," Ginny said. "Don't you _dare_ think it."

"Of course it was. I slipped, and you-you saved me—" Luna whispered.

"No, it was my fault, I overreacted. You were fine. You were hanging on with both hands." Ginny smiled at her in reassurance. "I'll be fine, I'll be _fine_, won't I, Madam Pomfrey?"

"Ginny Weasley will make a full recovery, Miss Lovegood… as long as she takes these potions."

Ginny grimaced. "Do I really have to take all of-" she counted the small cups "-eleven potions?"

"Yes," Mum and Madam Pomfrey said together. "You can take these three for pain before dinner, and all the rest afterwards," the school nurse went on.

Ginny gagged down the potions Madam Pomfrey indicated and felt her headache ebb away and the throbbing in her arms and legs lessen as her brothers- save for Ron-, Fleur, and Luna went for dinner in the Great Hall. Mum and Dad promised to return to her with food and left after fluffing her pillows. Madam Pomfrey had gone to check on other patients once she firmly rewrapped the bandages around Ginny's head and helped her sit up.

She turned to Ron and asked as soon as the curtains around her bed were drawn shut, "Where're Harry and Hermione?"

Ron took the seat Percy had vacated and tilted it back so it was balancing on two legs. "No 'how're you?' to your favorite brother?" he asked cheekily.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "How're you, Ron? Did you hurt yourself tripping over that stump?"

"Ha ha ha," he said then answered her previous question, "Hermione is off getting Harry, actually. They should be here soon."

"But weren't you all together?" she asked, puzzled.

Ron scratched his neck, looking guilty. "We fell asleep, you see, in the dorm, and we locked and put a repelling charm on the door—"

"You mean, you and Hermione—?"

"_No!_" Ron said, his ears reddening at the implication. Amused, Ginny pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. "_Harry_, Hermione and I needed to sleep, and we did what we could so no one would bother us.

"Hermione and I woke up first, maybe half an hour ago. I still can't believe we slept so long. Anyways, we didn't want to wake Harry, so we went down to get something to eat in the kitchens. On the way there, we ran into Dean, who told us that Luna told _him_ that you'd fallen through a bloody _staircase_, and that you'd been in the Hospital Wing for hours. Said everyone had been looking for us… I guess the repelling charm worked well enough, yeah?"

Her temples gave a mighty throb, which she found rather excruciating and highly unusual- she'd just taken potions for this kind of thing, hadn't she?

"Yeah, I guess they did," Ginny said when the pain diminished, and then blurted after a short pause, "I was bringing you all lunch when I fell."

"I gathered as much," Ron said with a frown. "Sorry."

She shook her head and her vision went blurry.

"Oi, slow down there," Ron said, his chair slamming down onto all four legs. It sounded like a thunderclap in her ears. "Ginny, _Ginny_ are you all right?"

She did not respond. Dizzily, she let her head fall back onto her pillows, heard Ron say something about getting Madam Pomfrey, and vaguely listened to his retreating steps. She had just tilted her head to the side when she noticed a pair of brown eyes staring at her through a small gap in the curtains.

Feeling very weak suddenly, it took most of Ginny's strength to call out, "Neville? Is that you?"

"I came as soon as I heard."

Neville carefully pulled the curtains aside and came to her bedside, looking ill at ease.

"I'll be all right, Neville. Ron's just gone to get… Madam… Pomfrey," she said, taking quick breaths as tiny flashes of light burst in her eyes.

_What's wrong with me?_

A straw was pressed to her lips. Ginny drank water greedily from the cup Neville was holding, but she still felt faint.

"Look, I just wanted to say that I was worried about you," Neville muttered quickly as he set the cup back down, his eyes darting away from her face, then back, his gaze pleading for her to understand….

"What is it, Neville?" she asked, carefully grabbing his left hand with her right. She squeezed it. "You can tell me. Is everything—?"

She never got to finish that sentence.

Neville's lips crashed onto hers, smashing her head back into the pillows. Her eyes, previously opened in shock, shut tightly as nausea rolled through her. With his mouth firmly attached to hers, Ginny whimpered in protest, clenching the hand that was still in hers with all the force she had left in her.

Neville moaned, mistaking all of her signs of discontent for pleasure, as his lips moved clumsily over hers.

The curtains around her bed were thrown aside, and Neville sprang away from her as if burned. Ginny indelicately wiped her mouth with the back of her good arm and looked up to thank her savior.

Her stomach turned as her eyes met a pair of emerald green ones.

"Oh. This-this is good," Harry said at once, the shock she registered on his features quickly repressed. He grinned, far too widely to be sincere. "I see that you're just fine, Ginny. Err, carry on."

Ginny stared at his rapidly receding figure, too stunned to call out to him. She gaped then at Hermione, who had seen the whole exchange and was shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably.

"I have to go to him," Hermione said, hurrying after Harry.

"Was that Hermione?" Ron asked a second later, Madam Pomfrey at his heels.

"Move aside Mr. Weasley, Mr. Longbottom," Madam Pomfrey said impatiently.

"When did you get here, Neville?" Ginny heard Ron ask. His voice was like an echo.

"I-I-I err…" Neville stuttered.

The school nurse adjusted Ginny's bandages. Immediately, her vision sharpened, but her heart was still beating erratically.

"Quite a bit quicker than normal," Madam Pomfrey said after taking her pulse. She looked up sharply. "What happened?"

"She looked like she was about to pass out," Ron responded, quitting his one-sided conversation with Neville.

"I wrapped the bandages around her head far too tightly," Madam Pomfrey explained, throwing an apologetic and worried look at Ginny. "But why is her heart rate up the roof? What's happened in the meantime?" She pointed her question at Neville.

"I-I kissed her," Neville said meekly.

"What?" Ron bellowed, looking murderous.

"Mr. Weasley!" Madam Pomfrey scolded. "Keep your voice down!"

"I-I kissed her," Neville repeated. "Then Harry walked in…"

Ron moaned pitifully.

Madam Pomfrey directed her next question at Ginny, who had yet to speak.

"Weren't you and Mr. Potter—?"

Ginny burst into tears.


	2. Chapter 2: In the Absence of Sun

**Title**: These Arms

**Words**: 3,947

**Rating**: PG-13

**Genres**: Romance, Drama, Action/Adventure, Humor

**Characters**: Harry/Ginny, All

**Summary**: Ginny's path to Harry was finally clear. It's too bad that bravery, of all things, got in the way.

**Author's Note**: Chapter 3 will be posted at the end of the month or the beginning of February. Constructive criticism is always appreciated, so please review!

The chapter title is from Duncan Sheik's song "In The Absence Of Sun."

Enjoy!

**Chapter 2**: In the Absence of Sun

_I don't want to feel this way, no.  
I don't want to say I'm just a friend.  
I don't want to wait around here  
'Cause you don't want to feel no pain again.  
We just lie about it  
As we become shadows of ourselves._

_~Harry. May 2__nd__, 1998._

Harry Potter did not want to wake up just yet, but his bladder had other plans. Blearily opening his eyes, Harry felt around for his glasses and thrust them onto his face. His blurry eyesight cleared instantly.

He stared for a moment up at the canopy of his four-poster bed, the scarlet material of the hangings nearly black in the darkness of the dorm room.

_Is it morning or night?_ he wondered silently.

Sitting up slowly, sore muscles protesting, Harry took notice of Ron and Hermione's absence at once, and then the curtains drawn over the tall windows. The dimmest light shimmered across the stone floor.

He squinted down at his watch. It was six o'clock, nearly nightfall. Looking for a clue as to Ron and Hermione's whereabouts, Harry took note of the empty plate on his nightstand, and his best friends' disappearance clicked into place. Kreacher had brought up sandwiches nearly ten hours ago; surely, as his stomach grumbled, it must've been the thought of food that had woken his friends.

He stood and hurried to the bathroom connected to the dormitory. Feeling lighter than he had in a very long time, Harry washed his hands and stared into his reflection in the mirror.

Bright emerald eyes stared back at him through fringe that had gotten far too long. He brushed it aside in annoyance and stared at his lightning bolt scar. He touched it gingerly, and when no pain seared at the contact, he grinned like he'd only grinned once before in his life.

The thought of Ginny slinked into his head and warmth flooded through him. He remembered the first time he kissed her, and the second, and the third, her lips warm and yielding against his. He remembered the sunlight that streamed through her hair as he incessantly curled thick strands of her red locks around his fingertips. He remembered her small hands tangled in his hair, too, pulling gently to keep him firmly in place if he made a move to draw away.

Ginny from his 6th year was replaced with Ginny from the present. Just that morning, she had stood before him, alive and well, her hands on his cheeks, beaming at him with pride in her eyes. Why hadn't he thrown her over his shoulder and taken her far away from here?

His bubble of happiness was popped abruptly. Fred, Remus and Tonks, and Colin were all unfairly taken, and so many others on the Light side.

He wanted them all to have state funerals.

He needed to clear Severus Snape's name.

The Death Eaters had to be dealt with.

Voldemort's body, where would it be buried?

The list of things he had to do went on and on. He had to find Kingsley Shacklebolt, now Minister for Magic, to discuss and attend to all these matters….

His reunion with Ginny would have to wait, but he still wanted to be near her.

He focused again on his appearance: dust was thick in his hair; his face was covered in dirt; dried blood was caked over a wound on his chin. A shower was indeed in order, and a shave. He decided to do the latter at a later time, when he got a hold of the razor The Delacours had given him for his birthday last year.

It took him longer than usual to wash. Harry had to carefully skim over the large bruise on his chest and the scrapes and scratches that covered his body. The hot water felt good, too, and he stayed under the spray even after he was finished.

Just as he was drying off, there was a tentative knock on the bathroom door.

"Harry? Is that you in there?"

"Just a moment, Hermione," he called, and hurried into the clothes he had cleaned with a quick and careless scouring charm.

He opened the door when he was fully dressed, took one look at her face, and asked hastily, "What happened? What's wrong?"

"Ginny—" she said. It was all she needed to say.

His stomach plummeted to his feet, and he thundered down the stairs. He reached the common room, plowed through some of its occupants- they all stood at his appearance, arms outstretched to shake his hand…

"Excuse me, _excuse_ me. Sorry!" Harry yelled then called over his shoulder at Hermione, "Where is she?"

"Hospital Wing," she answered, struggling to keep up.

He threw open the common room door with a bang, shocking the Fat Lady so that she shrieked. He raced down to the third floor, conjuring missing stairs ahead of him like Hermione had done that very morning on the way to Dumbledore's office.

Harry saw the double doors of the Hospital Wing just ahead of him, already open. Hermione, at his heels, said through gasps, "Dean said- she was in the fourth bed- on the right."

"_Dean?_" Harry growled, the dormant monster in his chest waking in annoyance.

Sprinting into the Hospital Wing, Harry did not think twice about throwing open Ginny's curtains once he reached her bed. All he wanted to do was make sure she was all right, maybe even hold her hand if she was asleep.

But someone else had reached her first, was already comforting her, in fact.

"Oh. This-this is good," Harry said with all the courage he could muster. He forced a grin on his face, doubtful he could take standing there much longer.

His heart felt like it had been pierced with a thousand needles, hit by a hundred Cruciatus Curses, and battered around a few dozen times by a Bludger.

_Ginny and Neville? Ginny and Neville. Neville and Ginny. Ginny and Neville, together._

He couldn't bring himself to look into her eyes, or even glance over at Neville. "I see that you're just fine, Ginny. Err, carry on," he said, focusing on a crack in the wall just above Ginny's shoulder.

Harry took off before he said something he'd regret, because he knew, deep down, that Neville deserved a girl like Ginny.

_They must've gotten together while I was searching for Horcruxes,_ he thought in misery. _How long did Ginny wait for me? Did she even wait at _all_?_

He struggled to make sense of everything as he walked, unaware of his surroundings, oblivious to Hermione following quietly and patiently behind, to Ron catching up to them a few minutes later.

Ginny had waited for him for a long time, she'd never given up on him- she'd told him so. But now? Now, she'd clearly chosen Neville over him. And Neville, he was a good bloke, and evidently fancied Ginny back. They were good together. Excellent even.

He wondered why, _why_ she had given up on him. Did she think he was going to die?

_Didn't she have faith in me?_

He pushed the thought aside as the monster in his chest roared in agony.

"Harry?"

He stopped abruptly and looked around. Harry found himself gazing out at the Black Lake, just feet away from the cliff overlooking it. Hysterically, he thought of jumping, but what for, a broken heart? Broken hearts happened all the time, far more often than wars…

He turned around to face his friends in the rapidly descending darkness. "I'm fine," he said at once. "Really, Hermione."

She continued to look at him skeptically, pushing the hair that had blown into her face aside. She opened her mouth to speak, but Ron cut across her.

"I don't think they're together," Ron said, grimacing. He looked uncomfortable talking about this. "Neville has to be boggled from killing that snake and sticking up to You-Know-Who, yeah?"

"Did he tell you that?" Harry demanded.

"Well, no—"

"Then leave it," he said forcefully. "She can be with whoever she wants to be with. I called it off, remember? I didn't expect her to wait around for me..."

His face crumbled, and he turned around hastily.

"Harry—"

"Leave me alone, Hermione. Ron."

He sat on the edge of the cliff for more than an hour, lost in his thoughts. The sky, already dark when he'd first walked out of the castle, had turned an inky indigo as he wallowed in unhappiness and utter confusion with a heavy, wounded heart.

The stars above twinkled merrily; his anguish was not enough to extinguish them.

His mind replayed the scene over and over again, making a fool of him each and every time: Ginny and Neville, _snogging_. He should have known that Ginny would move on. It had been nine months since he'd seen her last. Hadn't she gone from dating Michael Corner to Dean Thomas in less than a month? There was no reason for her to wait around for a dead man.

Once again, it went back to faith and the fact that Ginny didn't have any in him.

But the _signs_, like the reckless kiss he'd received from her on his seventeenth birthday and the demand that he have Luna show him to the Ravenclaw Tower and not Cho…

Hope flared in his chest. He struggled to keep it down. Though he had yet made sense of this new dilemma, he knew that no matter what, he'd put a brave face on and congratulate Neville on his victorious win.

_You're pushing it, Potter_, a voice said in his head.

Harry could never congratulate Neville on something like this, no matter how good and gallant Neville _was_. Could he even stand to look at him now? Could he bring himself to look at Ginny? He was going to have to in the days to come…

Harry stood up and paced, ignoring the simple splendor of the bright crescent moon casting sparkling light onto The Lake. A gust of wind blew from the south, and he turned his back on it. He saw Ron and Hermione get up slowly from their perch on a fallen tree's trunk.

They'd kept their distance but never left him alone.

"Ready to head in, mate?" Ron called casually through the wind.

Harry took in a deep, calming breath, and nodded.

"Ready as I'll ever be."

They walked through the deep darkness towards the castle with nothing but the moon's light illuminating their path. Harry searched his addled brain for something to talk about. This should not have been hard- there was _plenty_ to talk about. In the end Ron's stomach provided a good enough topic, as it rumbled loudly when they all reached Hogwarts' oak front doors.

"Hungry much, Ron?" Harry teased lightly.

The smell of roasted potatoes reached his nose. Harry's stomach grumbled loudly over Hermione's.

"Ha! I'm not the only one!" Ron said, pointing at him and Hermione. "I'll bet you anything we've missed dinner, though. Let's go down to the kitchens. I don't fancy seeing anyone right now, anyways."

Agreeing with Ron straight away, Harry led the way down to the kitchens.

"So, err," Harry started, wanting to ask the question that had been niggling at him since he'd heard of Ginny's admittance into the infirmary. "How exactly did Ginny… get hurt? You don't have to answer, of course. I shouldn't really be asking, should I?"

"You have every right to ask!" Hermione insisted firmly as they reached the painting of the fruit bowl. She reached up and tickled the pear. "You were in a relationship with her, and you still care about her, and you always will, I reckon, no matter what happens with the two of you."

The portrait to the kitchens opened to reveal dozens of house-elves clearing tables, sweeping the floors, and washing dishes. Kreacher was the first to drop what he was doing and rush over.

"Master Harry!" he said, bowing over and over again, tripping over the fresh white pillowcase he was wearing. "Master Harry! Kreacher thanks you, yes; he thanks you for ridding the world of You-Know-Who!"

"You led the house-elves, Kreacher. You helped to get rid of him, too," Harry said.

The small house-elf beckoned them all to a table with shinning eyes, and as they sat, he snapped his boney fingers. Roast chicken and potatoes, hot rolls, and two pitchers, one of pumpkin juice and the other of ice water, appeared on the table. Another snap and silverware materialize before them.

"Thanks, Kreacher," he said gratefully.

They tucked in eagerly. Harry and Ron shoveled food into their mouths first, and Hermione drowned a whole glass of water before tearing into the freshly baked bread. Harry, though hungry, slowed down enough to bring Ginny up again.

"Oh, right," Ron said, swallowing a mouthful of food. "D'you remember, on the way to Dumbledore's office, the flight of stairs with the gapping hole right in the middle? We had to conjure a dozen or so steps just to cross it."

"Yeah, we had to do it again on the way down- they haven't been fixed yet," Harry said.

Ron spooned a whole potato in his mouth and jerked his head.

Furrowing his brows, Harry turned to Hermione and said, "I still don't understand."

A sigh escaped her. "She fell through it, Harry." Hesitant, she added, when he wanted to hear no more, "then the staircase she'd fallen to, well… she fell down those, too."

The forkful of food Harry had halfway to his mouth clattered onto his plate. Kreacher hurried over, alarmed, but Harry shook his head and waved the house-elf away as politely as he could. The food he'd eaten wanted suddenly to reappear. He had to concentrate very hard on his breathing to keep it down.

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look; he ignored them.

Waves of shame washed over him. Thinking back to when he'd seen her laying there in Neville's arms- Harry disregarded the pain in his chest as he saw them in his mind's eye, kissing- he focused on the image of Ginny wrapped nearly head-to-toe in gauze.

He shot up out of his chair and headed for the door.

"Harry? Harry, where are you going?" Hermione called after him, alarmed.

"To see Ginny."

He made it up three flights of stairs, running full out, his mind a blur- _how could I have been so stupid?- _when he nearly collided with a couple on the next staircase. He threw himself against the banister, his ribs connecting with it painfully, to avoid crashing into them.

"Harry!" Mrs. Weasley cried. She shoved a plate full of food at Mr. Weasley then threw her arms around Harry's neck.

"Mrs. Weasley," Harry gasped, rubbing his aching side with one hand and patting her clumsily on the back with the other. "Hi."

"Now, Molly, let the poor man breathe," Mr. Weasley said.

Mr. Weasley shook his hand enthusiastically, pumping it before Harry was even released from Mrs. Weasley's bone-crushing hug.

"We just came back from Ginny's bedside. You heard she was in the Hospital Wing, didn't you, dear?" Harry nodded and tried to speak, but Mrs. Weasley continued on. "Well, anyways, Arthur and I went to take this food to Ginny- now she's gone without eating since yesterday, poor thing- but when we got there, she was having some sort of panic attack. Madam Pomfrey said she wasn't sure what brought it on, but she had some suspicions." She paused long enough to take a breath then asked, "Have you eaten?"

Harry stared at Mrs. Weasley, his mind scrambling to catch up to her ramblings.

"Err, I just ate. I was actually on my way to see Ginny now."

Mrs. Weasley, who looked like she hadn't slept in days, smiled at him. Some color returned to her cheeks.

"No wonder you were in such a hurry," she said, her eyes twinkling. "Perhaps the two of you can make up when she wakes."

Harry's face flared with heat, and he hastily averted his gaze from Mr. Weasley's probing eyes. He didn't know that Ginny had told her parents about their relationship back in his 6th year. He wondered how much she'd told them, or how much Ron had given away, if anything at all. Did they know about her involvement with Neville Longbottom? Did they _prefer_ him over Neville?

"Right, of course," he answered meekly. It was all he could say. "I'll… just… head on up now."

He flew up to the next flight of stairs, relieved to be away from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's soft smiles and high expectations, and finally reached the corridor to the Hospital Wing. He started towards the infirmary with snitches fluttering in his stomach when a tall, bald black man exited its double doors. Harry would, yet again, be thwarted from visiting Ginny.

"Harry. Just the man I wanted to see."

"Minister Shacklebolt," Harry said, suddenly dreading his meeting with the man striding quickly towards him.

There was so much to do.

Kingsley Shacklebolt gave a rumbling laugh as he reached him. "Just Kingsley, Harry."

"Right, of course," Harry said again, this time to the newly appointed Minister of Magic. They shook hands. Harry took noticed that Percy Weasley was on Kingsley's immediate right.

"Percy," Harry said, extending his hand to his best mate's older brother.

Percy stared at it for a moment, slightly stunned, and then shook it powerfully.

"I don't suppose you have time to sit in on an Auror briefing?" Kingsley asked, dropping pleasantries abruptly. "It starts in five minutes on the first floor, in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom."

Harry stared at the Hospital Wing doors and took a deep breath. What was right and what was easy, he realized, were exactly the same thing this time.

_Ginny's asleep_, he thought resignedly, _and she's involved with Neville_. _What good would it do to sit at her bedside?_

"If you need a moment, Harry—"

"No," Harry interjected. "I don't need a moment- this is far more important than anything else. We should get to the meeting. It's starting soon, yeah?"

They took off, leaving Percy, with furrowed brows, at the top of the stairs, looking from Harry to the Hospital Wing and back.

The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom was unrecognizable to Harry, but then again, a lot had changed in a year: the windows, thrown open to the night sky, were shattered, and wind fluttered its tattered and burned curtains; rusty chains hung from the wall behind the teacher's desk; scorch marks dulled the once glistening floor; and the desks, seared with graffiti, were pushed together to resemble a very wide, very long table for the meeting.

The moment he entered the torch-lit room, the din within diminished almost entirely. Two dozen people or so stared at him, some surprised, mouths agape, some with eyebrows furrowed in anger or confusion, and others, Harry was glad to see, smiling.

"There he is, the man of the hour!"

A heavily bearded man in blood red robes, hands outstretched, emerged from a group of Aurors near the head of the makeshift table. His face was wrinkled and leathery, as if he'd spent far too much time in the sun, and contrasted sharply with his icy blue eyes that peered at Harry through shaggy, graying black hair.

"Harry, this is Gawain Robards, Head of the Auror Department," Kingsley introduced. Robards caught both of Harry's hands and shook them aggressively. "Forgive us for being late—"

"Nonsense!" Robards boomed and turned to Harry. "To be quite honest, I expected you'd want a break from fighting."

"Not at all, sir," Harry said honestly, gripping Robards' hand firmly before letting go. "There's a lot to be done."

"Indeed there is," Kingsley said, cutting across Robards as he opened his mouth to say more. "You'll have plenty of time to talk to Harry later, Gawain. Shall we get started?"

Dozens of candles floating above the table sparked to life as Kingsley took a seat at the head of it. Harry found himself sitting on Kingsley's left, right across from Gawain, and next to another Auror, who wore a ponytail and had a fresh, bright pink scar across his cheek.

Percy walked in just as everyone settled into their seats. He quickly dispersed parchment, quills and ink with a wave of his wand then hurriedly conjured a table and chair and prepared to take notes.

Introductions took a quarter of an hour. The man at Harry's side was named Edgar Savage. He was Head of the Practical Defense Training Course in the Auror Department; Harry had a feeling he would be getting to know him very well. Beside Robards sat Kenelm Proudfoot, Head of the Criminal Investigation Training, then Tristram Williamson, Head of Concealment and Disguise Training. A woman named Iona Flowers sat beside him, Duncan Turnbull beside her, then Devin Teague and Thomas Snell. After him, however, Harry couldn't remember a single name.

When they finally came around to him, Kingsley said, "Last but not least, Harry Potter, or as the _Daily Prophet_ has newly dubbed him, Vanquisher of Voldemort."

Before he even realized what he was doing, he said bitterly, "I wished they didn't. I didn't do it alone." If everyone wasn't already staring his way, they were now. "I had help," Harry explained. "Ron and Hermione, The Order, Dumbledore's Army, Severus Snape—"

"Rubbish!" someone shouted at the end of the table.

"It's _true_!" Harry said indignantly, looking down the table then up at Kingsley. "I have proof."

Through a series of scoffs and snorts, Harry heard:

"Where is it, then?"

"Yeah, I'd like to see it."

"Severus Snape, innocent?"

"Right, when _Basilisks_ fly."

Wanting nothing more than to shut them all up, Harry was relieved when Kingsley finally boomed, "Severus Snape is _not_ up for discussion. We're here to decide on a plan of action to capture all missing Death Eaters."

Harry took a deep and calming breath, heart pounding in his ears. He unclenched his fists and almost dropped his wand; when had he taken it out? Carefully, he pushed his wand into the sleeve of his jumper and looked up. Gawain Robards was watching him like a hawk.

Harry had only considered clearing Severus Snape's name as his next hardest challenge. Now, he realized that he would have to prove to the Head of the Auror Department that he was not going to shoot hexes at everyone who disagreed with him.

_So much for first impressions_, he thought. _Not that I get any of those in the Wizarding World_.

"…are seven known to us that we must find, and fast, before anymore lives are lost," Kingsley was saying when Harry pulled away from his thoughts. "Vincent Crabbe Sr., Gregory Goyle Sr., Maurus Jugson, Rabastan Lestrange, Johan Mulciber, Balder Nott, and Augustus Rookwood."

"We'll need a team of Aurors to question the Death Eaters we've captured," Robards said at once, drawing his eyes away from Harry. "It's the only way we'll get any information on their whereabouts."

"Yes, I agree," Kingsley said with a nod of his head.

"What can we offer them?"

Harry frowned and looked up and down the table. He didn't see a single face that wasn't glowering.

"Offer them?" Harry said, confused. "You don't mean the Death Eaters will get out of going to Azkaban, do you?"

"No. Once the Wizengamot replaces the members they lost or dismissed, and purges all of the members that had been corrupted, if a Death Eater gets a trial and gives enough information, I believe they'll lighten their sentence; get visitation rights, two life sentences instead of three… that sort of thing. We would never allow a Death Eater to be released."

"But you have before," Harry said, suddenly incensed.

Kingsley stared at Harry and said in a voice that broke no reason, "Not under _my_ administration."


	3. Chapter 3: A Beautiful Mess

**Title**: These Arms

**Words**: 3,334

**Rating**: PG-13

**Genres**: Romance, Drama, Action/Adventure, Humor

**Characters**: Harry/Ginny, All

**Summary**: Ginny's path to Harry was clear. It's too bad that bravery, of all things, got in the way.

**Author's Note**: To whoever nominated my story for Best Drama at SIYE, thank you. I didn't win, but it sure made me happy!

The chapter title is from Jason Mraz's song "A Beautiful Mess." Some lyrics are included. Enjoy, and please review!

**Chapter 3**: A Beautiful Mess

_You've got the best of both worlds.  
You're the kind of girl who can take down a man  
And lift him back up again._

_~Ginny. May 3__rd__, 1998._

A bowl of steaming porridge, lumpy and grey, two slices of dry toast, and a glass of pulpy orange juice was placed on a tray across her knees. Ginny stared at it with trepidation.

"Do I have to _eat_ that?" she asked, bile rising in her throat.

Madam Pomfrey glared at her. "If you want to get out of this bed today, then _yes_," she said before bustling out with a huff.

As soon as the curtains shut behind Madam Pomfrey, Ginny quickly turned towards Hermione. Her bushy-haired friend had only just given her a quick greeting when Madam Pomfrey had walked in levitating her breakfast and potions.

"What's gone on since last night? How is everyone? Have you talked to Harry? To Neville? This is a bloody disaster, Hermione!"

"Calm down, Ginny!" Hermione said, taking one of the two chairs at her bedside. She gave her a long look. "_God_, you're pale. Eat and then maybe I'll enlighten you."

Ginny glared at her, sighed, and turned to her breakfast. Without giving it too much thought, she hastily scooped oatmeal into her mouth and took several large bites of her toast. She washed it down with half a glass of orange juice, careful not to taste anything.

She swallowed hard and gasped, "You can talk while I eat, you know."

Hermione stared at her in slight revulsion and warned, "You're going to make yourself sick."

"No, I'm not!" she snapped. She took a deep breath, struggling to keep from lashing out at Hermione. All she wanted was a few details. "Please, if you won't tell me what's been going on at least tell me where Harry is. Once I get out of here, I'll find him- talk to him."

"Look, Harry's Harry. He won't talk to us about it. Ron and I tried to get him to. Ron even figured it was some big misunderstanding and told him so."

"Ron figured that out? On his own?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes." She hesitated and continued, "It _was_ a misunderstanding, wasn't it?"

"Of course! Neville and I are _not_ together. I don't know what came over him, but whatever it was, he's got a large pair of bollocks—"

"Ginny!" Hermione protested, looking thoroughly disgusted.

"—if he thinks he can get away with it," Ginny finished, stuffing her face with more food.

She wondered if she'd shout at him first, or Bat-Bogey Hex him into next week. Perhaps she'd let him have both at the same time. That would teach him not to kiss girls that were still attached!

_Not that Harry and I are attached really_, Ginny thought gloomily. _What must he think of me?_

_Scarlet Woman_, a voice that sounded vaguely like her mother's hissed, crossing through her very inner reflections.

She frowned and scraped the bowl of porridge clean.

"Eating quickly isn't going to get you out of here faster," Hermione said. "Fleur is off getting you clothes. Your mother told me that she threw away your robes last night; they were blood-soaked."

"What?" Ginny groaned through a mouthful of food. "Bloody fantastic."

Fleur was wretched at picking out clothes; everything she wore was so _girly_. Ginny wouldn't be surprised if her sister-in-law brought her a doily disguised as a skirt.

Hermione shrugged apologetically and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "If it makes you feel any better, she should be here soon enough. Then you can go have a word with Harry. Or Neville."

Ginny slowed and looked down at the food in her lap. There was only a piece of toast left, and maybe a gulp or two of juice. She was uncomfortably full, and she felt strangely distant, like when she had woken up that very morning.

No one had been there when she'd opened her eyes to the early sunlight streaming across her bed, lighting dancing dust motes and warming her frozen feet. Her first thought had been about Harry. It usually always was when she woke up. Time and time again she'd wondered if he'd seen the new day, if he was still alive.

But this time she felt guilty. She'd just lost a brother. Her first thought should not have been about Harry, it should have been about Fred, about her family. So she pulled herself away, far away and refused to think about _anything_.

Now she had to. It was the right thing to do. Again she found herself in a far away place, where the death of someone she loved was not happening to her, but to another girl with the same name.

"How is everyone _else_?" she said quietly, playing idly with the breadcrumbs on her plate. She had had to force the words out.

Hermione did not respond for a long time. She could feel her brown eyes examining her, like she was a Blast-Ended Skrewt up for dissection.

She listened with half an ear as Hermione recounted that Fred's wake was planned for tomorrow night, and his funeral the day after. Her father had made arrangements with the small church in Ottery St. Catchpole with Bill yesterday after they had gone to see the state of the Burrow, which was apparently damaged but still standing.

Her father and brothers, including George surprisingly, were all currently helping with the rebuilding of Hogwarts, and her mother was assisting McGonagall, Andromeda Tonks, and a handful of other women with war orphans.

_War orphans…_

"Harry's with Teddy, isn't he?" Ginny asked suddenly, looking up from the small mountain of crumbs she'd constructed to look like a lightening bolt. Her heart was pounding in her ears. She knew the answer to her question before her mouth had even formed the words.

Hermione smiled at the grin that had blossomed upon Ginny's face. "Yeah, he is."

With a hastily thrown Imperturbable Charm on the door, Ginny vomited her breakfast into the toilet in the infirmary lavatory. She'd only made it to the loo because she'd forgone the wheelchair Madam Pomfrey had made her sit in and ran for it once the nurse had turned her back.

Hermione had escaped Fleur's constant babbling with the excuse of checking up on Ron. She, however, was stuck listening to her sister-in-law blather on and on about how the clothes she'd brought her was _magnifique_ and how Bill was_ incroyable_ stepping up and helping his family and Hogwarts the way he was in this time of need.

"_Mon dieu_, you are pale!" Fleur called through the door, and Ginny grimaced. The second time receiving such a comment was no better than the first.

Trembling, she flushed the toilet and opened the large, silvery bag Fleur had packed her clothes in. There was a toothbrush and her under things, a bottle of perfume she'd never seen before, and a hairbrush. She then pulled out a white sleeveless top and a green skirt; they both looked two sizes too small.

"Damn it, Fleur!" Ginny muttered.

She hurried out of her hospital gown, wrapped her right arm around her bare torso, and debated on whether or not she had enough time to shower.

"Ginny! You should really let me 'elp you!" Fleur hollered.

Although Ginny's legs had been mended and were as good as new, she was still re-growing most of the bones in her left hand, and her head was still wrapped in bandages. If she wanted to get to Harry sometime soon, she would have to do the unthinkable.

With all the courage within her, Ginny undid the Imperturbable Charm on the door and opened it a crack.

"All right, you can help me." Fleur started forward. "Just wait until I get in the shower."

"If you want me to 'elp, I'll 'ave to see you naked, Ginny."

"I know that!" she growled. "_Please_, just wait."

Fleur glared at her through the crack in the door, said, "_Fine_," and proceeded to drivel in French, most likely about the modesty of the English.

She shut the door in Fleur's face, but did not lock it, then leaned against it for a moment and wondered if she'd make it through the day in one piece.

Ginny was discharged from the infirmary a half hour later, only after promising Madam Pomfrey that she would return before dinner to rewrap the bandages around her head and to check on the new bones in her left arm. The first thing she did was get away from Fleur; she had been very helpful, and Ginny thanked her, but she could only take her chatty French sister-in-law in small doses.

"Where are you going?" Fleur asked as Ginny hastened towards the Gryffindor Common Room. "I only ask because your _mère et père _mightwonder..."

"To see Harry," she called over her shoulder.

She made it to the seventh floor without incident. The damaged staircases had been restored; Ginny found it slightly disconcerting that certain steps were completely replaced, glistening and new, while others were dull and old. Still, the ascent had been tiring and difficult, no thanks to the skirt she wore, clinging to her like a second skin. She was surprised she hadn't split them right down the middle.

Panting from the climb up, Ginny hurried and stood before the empty portrait of The Fat Lady. She tugged at the ornate frame one-handed, but it didn't budge. A shadow passed over her as she cursed her luck.

"Here, let me," said a deep voice from behind her.

She whirled around, heart racing as she pointed her wand at the face of one of her dearest friends.

"Neville! You bloody prick!"

Neville winced, hands up in surrender. "I guess I deserve that."

"Yes, you do!" she said, lowering her wand after smacking him as hard as she could on the arm. "What did you do that for?" She didn't need to clarify what "that" was.

Neville looked around the corridor scratching at the back of his head, and when he was sure no one was around, he sheepishly said, "I don't know."

"You 'don't know'?" she exploded. She started to pace in agitation, gritting her teeth and clenching her wand. Red sparks spurted from the end of it, and Neville took a cautious step back. "I don't understand. How do you not know? You ruined _everything_."

"I'm sorry! Really, I am," he said. "I-I don't even _like_ you like that."

"What were you thinking, then?" She thought up something outrageous and shot at him with a murderous glare, "'Stand up to Voldemort, kill his pet snake, get the girl?'"

She stopped pacing when he didn't answer. An uncomfortable silence settled in, and she looked over at him. Neville was staring down at his shoes, shifting from foot to foot, shoulders rounded in shame and embarrassment. Anger seeped out of her very bones, leaving her more exhausted than ever before.

Tucking her wand into her arm brace, for her skirt had no pockets, Ginny reached out and squeezed his hand.

"I'm an idiot, yeah?" he said quietly.

"You're not," Ginny said firmly, ducking her head to look into his down-turned face. He turned away, but she followed him. He met her gaze hesitantly. "Really. You're _not_. You're brave, and sweet." He scoffed. "I _mean_ it, Neville."

Neville squeezed her hand back. "Thanks," he mumbled. "And I really am sorry. I wasn't thinking. And Harry—"

"I'll deal with him, Neville," she said with a smile. It did not reach her eyes.

"I can talk to him- tell him it was a misunderstanding…"

She shook her head. "If he won't believe Ron, he won't believe you."

They stared at one another for a while, lost in their thoughts.

"Your hand," Neville said suddenly. "It's freezing. And you're shaking!" And so she was. Ginny yanked her hand out of his grip, but it was already too late. Neville, fiercely loyal and protective, was glaring at her suspiciously. "Have you eaten?"

She jutted out her chin. "Yes," she said. It wasn't a lie. She had eaten… she'd just vomited it all up as soon as she'd had the chance.

Still disbelieving, Neville stared at her for a moment, and when she didn't break eye contact, he sighed in defeat and took off his cloak.

"Here," he said. "At least put this on."

"Thanks," she said gratefully when the cloak spread warmth over her shoulders and down her arms. The fabric pooled at her feet.

"Why are you wearing that, anyways?" Neville asked. "It-it looks ace on you and all, but… I've never seen you wear something like that."

Ginny fondly ignored Neville's blush. "It was Fleur's idea: something about beauty being painful. Complete bollocks if you ask me."

Neville was nodding. "You'd look just as great without that on." A look of horror crossed his face. "I mean- I mean you'd look really good in anything! I didn't mean—!"

Ginny laughed and laughed until she was crying.

"Ginny?"

She wiped her eyes with the handkerchief Neville held out to her. "Oh, Neville, it's all right. I know what you meant." She looked him up and down, grinning. "You'd look great without that on, too," she teased.

Neville's pink cheeks turned tomato red. She kissed the apples of them both, his skin hot on her lips.

"I love you, Neville," Ginny said warmly, giving him a one-armed hug.

"I love you, too, Ginny," Neville mumbled through a smile.

A high-pitched wail echoed off the corridor's stone walls. Neville and Ginny, both flinching at the piercing noise, turned to see a raven-haired man with a baby in his arms race down the stairs.

"No!" she bellowed. Her blood ran like ice. "No! Harry! You've got it all wrong! Come back! Come _back_!"

She went to chase after him but tripped on Neville's long cloak and fell excruciatingly onto her healing arm. She would've gotten up, would've shrugged off every cumbersome yard of fabric to get to him, left her arm of once again broken bones behind if she had to, but she could not for her eyes were full of tears of sheer frustration and pain.

Being readmitted into the infirmary was not on her schedule for today. Yet, here she was, re-growing nearly re-grown bones in her left arm and chugging down a Calming Draught that she knew was not going to be strong enough for her broken heart, for the death of her brother, for the utter hopelessness she felt.

Neville was pacing, and Luna was sitting on her bed, stroking her cheek.

"Please stop crying," Luna said, for the hundredth time. She turned to the school nurse. "I think she's going to need another Calming Draught, Madam Pomfrey."

"No," Ginny said at once. "This- this is enough."

_Let me cry._

"Miss Weasley," Madam Pomfrey started. "I really think—"

"Leave me _ALONE_!" she exploded. "Leave me the _BLOODY HELL ALONE_! I'm tired! I'm angry! I'm _b-broken_!" She was sobbing so hard, she wondered if they even understood a word she was saying. "Let me cry! I've lost him. I've lost _them_. I've lost my brother. Leave me alone! Leave me _alone_!"

"Miss Weasely!" Madam Pomfrey cried in alarm, reaching for her wand. "Miss Weasley, settle down!"

"I won't! I won't!"

_Why can't I stop yelling? Hurting?_

"Ginny," Luna said calmly, though her hands were shaking as she wiped Ginny's trembling and tear-stained cheek. "Ginny, _please_."

She pushed her away, no longer in control of her body, no longer _in_ her body. She was above it, staring down on the scene as Neville pushed Ginny, struggling, back into bed as she started to get up. His eyes were hard, yet so full of sorrow. Luna finally pulled away and started to cry.

"You leave me no choice," Madam Pomfrey said ominously, and with a swish of her wand and a flash of yellow light, Ginny slammed back into her body, collapsed into the hospital cot, and fell into an uneasy asleep.

She listened for a long time to the sound of her mother weeping. She did not feel guilty.

She did not feel anything.

She concentrated on her breathing. _Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale._ After a while, she became aware of herself. Her head was aching dully and her left arm felt like it was on pins and needles. She ignored it and thought of something else.

The sheets, they were scratchy and not at all like the soft cotton of the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts. She frowned slightly, inhaled sharply, and smelled over the strong odor of disinfectant, of all things, _flowers_. And not just any flowers, but the ones from the Burrow, the ones she used to make her shampoo.

_Am I home?_

Curiosity begged Ginny to open her eyes, but she enjoyed the cool darkness beneath her eyelids.

Her mother's soft cries were quieting, and Dad made small shushing noises.

"Everything will be all right, Molly, you'll see," he said, his voice soft and tired.

"I can't lose her, too, Arthur. I _feel_ like I'm losing her."

Ginny cringed, guilt finally gripping her. "Mum, please," she said hoarsely. "I'll be fine."

"You're awake! Oh, Ginny, you're _awake_!" Mum shouted, gripping Ginny's right hand in relief. "You scared us! My _nerves_! You have no compassion for them!"

Ginny opened her eyes and became disoriented from her new surroundings.

"Am… am I in St. Mungo's?" she asked hesitantly.

Mum and Dad traded a look. "You're being treated for exhaustion," Dad confirmed. Ginny noticed that his eyes, once bright and blue, were now dark and weary. "And shock and anxiety."

"Oh," she said. She sat up with little trouble. Her strength had returned, and she wasn't trembling all over like before. "Well, I do feel a little better now. How long have I been here?"

"About five hours," Mum said, wiping at the remaining moisture on her cheeks with a tissue.

"Oh," Ginny repeated, furrowing her brows. She'd slept the day away, again. "Are you two my only visitors?" she asked suddenly.

"Your brothers all came by for a time. They've all left, of course, except for Ron," her father said, standing from his perch at her bedside and stretching, a grimace working his way onto his face as his back gave a resounding _crack_. Her mother stood, too. "He, Harry, and Hermione went up to get tea a little while ago."

"Harry was here?" she asked, startled.

"Yes, he brought you the flowers," her mother responded, nodding her head towards the bedside table with a small smile on her face.

Ginny whipped her head around to look, dizzying herself for a moment. There, where her mother had indicated, was a clear, very wide and very shallow bowl half full of water, and in it floated three bright pink water lilies. Beside it sat a squat, white ceramic vase, with bunches upon bunches of very sweet smelling heliotrope.

"He picked them from the pond and garden at the Burrow. Said he thought you'd like something comforting while you stayed here," Mum went on, looking very satisfied, propping Ginny's pillows up and fluffing them.

She sat back into them, baffled. As her mother and father left to get some tea and send down her brother, Harry, and Hermione, Ginny came to the conclusion that she must've missed something very important.

_Why would Harry bring me flowers? _she pondered silently. The last she'd seen of him, he was running away from her, he wanted nothing to _do_ with her. But now?

Now he was walking into her room, carrying a dozen or so white tulips, a bag of her favorite chocolates from Honeydukes and sporting a very dark black eye.

"What happened to your _face_?" Ginny shouted in alarm. Harry frowned and she bit her tongue.

_ Way to go, Weasley._

"Sorry," she said.

He took a deep breath. "No, _I'm_ sorry. I've been a complete wanker."

"The Chosen Wanker," she supplied, looking up at him through her lashes.

He smiled and agreed, "The Chosen Wanker."


	4. Chapter 4: Everything Will Be Alright

**Title**: These Arms

**Words**: 4,554

**Rating**: PG-13

**Genres**: Romance, Drama, Action/Adventure, Humor

**Characters**: Harry/Ginny, All

**Summary**: Ginny's path to Harry was clear. It's too bad that bravery, of all things, got in the way.

**Author's Note**: I know you all want to see Harry and Ginny together. I got that, and it _will_ happen, but I want to explore these characters and their friendships, too. Please be aware of that.

Also, a couple of people asked how long this story will be. I've got it outlined to 25 chapters. After that, I'll probably write a sequel of the same length, then put it to bed and write something else. (I've got a lot of ideas, but I want to focus on _These Arms_ until it is complete.)

The title of this chapter is also the title of the song "Everything Will Be Alright" by The Killers. Enjoy and review!

**Chapter 4**: Everything Will Be Alright

_I believe in you and me._

_I'm coming to find you_

_If it takes me all night;_

_Wrong until you make it right._

_And I won't forget you,_

_At least I'll try,_

_And run, and run tonight._

_Everything will be alright…_

_~Harry. May 2__nd__, 1998._

"Where have you been?" Harry jumped back as soon as he entered the boys' dormitory. "Ron and I have been looking all _over_ for you. You said you were going to see Ginny, and when we got to the Hospital Wing, you weren't there!"

"I know. I'm sorry. Before I could get there, Kingsley—"

"The _Minister_?"

"Yes, the Minister. He wanted me to be a part of an Auror briefing."

"An _Auror brief_—?"

"Well, how was it, then?" Ron asked, cutting across Hermione. "I wish I'd gone with you. Do you think Kingsley would've invited me, too?"

Harry fell into his bed after tossing a full to bursting folder of parchment on to the nightstand beside it, his mind buzzing with new information and even more things to do. He pushed up his glasses and rubbed at his eyes as Hermione said reassuringly, "Of course he would've asked you to be a part of the meeting, Ron!"

"Yeah, he would've," Harry confirmed, toeing off his shoes and sitting up to pull off his jumper. His wand promptly fell out. "I have some paperwork for you, if you want to be recruited."

Ron's took a breath to start talking, face lit with excitement, but Hermione broke in, "Why'd you have your wand in there?"

"Err, there was a bit of a disagreement during the meeting," Harry said reluctantly, reaching down to grab it. Before she could ask anymore probing questions, he asked, "By the way, should I have knocked before coming in?"

Ron's face split to reveal the largest grin Harry had ever seen, and Hermione blushed scarlet, confirming his suspicions.

_They might've found me if they hadn't been snogging each other's faces off_, he thought wryly.

"Ugh." He shut his curtains with a wave of his wand and said over Ron's laughter and Hermione's indignant spluttering, "I don't want to hear any squelching, alright?"

"Harry!" Hermione shouted embarrassedly. Something large, surely a pillow, struck his curtains. Ron was still roaring with laughter. "What about the meeting?"

"I'll tell you in the morning," he said. "Goodnight, you two."

"Goodnight," his two best friends said together.

He listened as they got ready for bed, stared up at his canopy, and thought about Ginny.

_~May 3__rd__, 1998._

Harry, Ron and Hermione woke the next morning just as the sun was rising, out of habit, and started to get ready for the new day. While Hermione took her turn in the bathroom, Harry and Ron were left to sort through their remaining clothes, which she had Summoned from the depths of her beaded bag.

"I don't think much of this fits me anymore," Ron said, holding up a pair of trousers to his waist; it was about five inches too short.

"No, I reckon the same for me," Harry said, frowning at a pullover from his fifth year.

While Harry tossed out clothes in silence, Ron fidgeted with the shoelaces of his extremely frayed trainers for far too long to be considered normal. Whatever was on his mind must be getting to him, and Harry found it incredibly difficult not to push him for information, though if it was about his and Hermione's relationship, he'd rather not ask what was wrong at all.

When Ron started to pace, however, Harry sighed, threw out five mismatched socks, and said, "Right, out with it, then." He sat with a _plop_ on his bed and braced himself for the worst.

"You're not going to Australia with us." It wasn't a question. Ron knew Harry better than Harry knew himself- he couldn't leave the UK at a time like this. But he was still surprised. Why was his inevitable trip with Hermione to Australia causing him so much stress? "And, well, Hermione and I… we're going to be alone."

"Yes," he said, because he didn't know what else to say.

"Hermione and I, we're _together_ now."

"I don't see where you're going with this. After all that's happened, don't you two need to be alone, _together_?" Harry asked.

"That's just it, isn't it, mate? We're together, and we're going to be alone. Completely alone, without you there, being your barmy self."

"Thanks, Ron."

"Don't mention it."

"Look," Harry stood and gripped Ron by the shoulders so that he'd stop his annoying pacing, and shook him for a moment, "You and Hermione have been a long time coming, and the two of you have been friends for years. You've been alone together hundreds of times."

"I know, but now we _snog_." Harry groaned and collapsed onto his bed yet again, rumpling already wrinkled clothes even further. "No, listen. It isn't like before. I can touch her now—"

"_Please_ stop—" he protested weakly, feeling sick, but Ron continued on.

"—and wouldn't it be strange, finding her parents, reintroducing myself as Hermione's boyfriend, and her dad knowing I've been running my hands all over the daughter he forgot he had?" The water in the bathroom shut off abruptly. Hurriedly, Ron asked, desperately, in a whisper, "What do I do?"

"You do what you've been doing," Harry said. "Be there for her when she needs you."

He blew out a breath. "Thanks mate," Ron said.

Harry smiled and started to put his clothes together, thinking that was the end of it. His stomach plummeted to his feet when Ron asked, "What about you?"

He concentrated on folding his denim trousers. "What about me?"

"You're going to be alone."

Harry did not meet Ron's eyes. "I'll be fine."

Before Ron could protest, the bathroom door opened, and Hermione came out, fully dressed, in a billow of steam. "I'm all done in there if you want to go in, Ron, Harry," she said.

He averted his eyes when Ron leaned over and kissed Hermione full on the mouth on his way into the loo. Harry was happy for them, really he was, but melancholy seeped into his very pores, unstoppable, like a vengeful Dementor, and all he could think about was Ginny, tightly and passionately interlocked with Neville, whenever he saw Ron and Hermione sharing an intimate moment.

Would he ever have what they had?

The door shut and the water started in one of the shower stalls. They'd let Hermione have the bathroom to herself, even though there were four private stalls and they'd had a handful of close calls in the tent over the last several months.

Harry steeled himself for the onslaught of questions he knew Hermione was going to throw at him while he prepared his things.

"Did Ron ask you to come to Australia with us?"

_Not really, but I wasn't planning on it anyways_. "Yes."

"And? Are you?"

"No." _And I won't change my mind._

"Why not?"

"They need me here, Hermione," he sighed. "Besides, you two could use some time alone."

"Ron and I have been alone hundreds of times," she protested.

He could not stop the grin from growing on his face. "I know, but not like this." He reached for his razor, carefully folded clothes and started to the bathroom.

"I'm nervous." Her admission stopped him in his tracks. He studied the wood grain on the door to the bathroom, hand on the door knob; he could not turn around to look at her. "We're together now, Ron and I, and I don't know if I'll be able to stop—"

"Hermione, please," Harry said through a grimace and heavily furrowed brows, mortified. "Shouldn't you talk to a girl about this?"

"I don't have any girlfriends, other than Ginny-" Harry sucked in a breath at the sound of her name- "and I reckon she isn't going to want to talk about her brother and I in any sort of compromising position."

"No, I guess not." He took a deep breath; Hermione was like the sister he'd never had. He tried to put himself in Ron's position, thought painfully of his seventeenth birthday, and said over his shoulder, "If he tries something you don't want to do, hex his bits off—"

"Harry—"

"—and if he doesn't want to do whatever you want to do, then he's mad." He met her eyes. "You're a great girl, Hermione. You'll know when the time comes what to do."

"Harry-" she threw herself into his arms, "-thank you."

"Anytime, Hermione."

After Harry, Ron and Hermione showered, Harry elaborated on what went on at the Auror meeting; they'd discussed everything from state funerals, unclaimed bodies, medals, and Auror recruitment, to the rebuilding at Hogwarts, other magical communities such as Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade, and any other civilian areas, magical or not, that were damaged by Death Eaters. It hadn't taken long, but they were, nonetheless, late to help with the reconstruction at Hogwarts, and had missed breakfast in the Great Hall… not that they minded much.

Once again, Kreacher proved to be an asset to them when he brought breakfast up to the boys' dormitory, which they claimed as theirs after The Battle.

"So, what are they working on first?" Hermione asked as they exited the empty Gryffindor common room, holding hands with Ron. In her other hand, she held a half-eaten piece of toast.

"The staircases," Harry said, regretting it immediately.

"I wonder who gave them that idea…"

Harry ignored Ron and Hermione's knowing looks and gritted his teeth.

"Anyways," he said, "it looks like they've already finished with that."

"Magical master builders really do work fast, don't they?" Ron said as they stopped at the top of the staircase to survey the work that had been done.

"I'm sure it helps having nearly every Auror assisting, as well as the house elves," Hermione sniffed with disdain.

Harry and Ron avoided meeting each others eyes. He did not want to cross Hermione and tell her that they'd all volunteered quite cheerfully.

They descended towards the ground floor, no rubble or missing stairs or gapping holes to be seen. Stopped occasionally, mostly by people they'd never met wanting to shake their hands or take pictures with them, it took them twice as long to get down a stairway. Ron, who seemed jovial at first, had a scowl on his face after the umpteenth woman drew away, smiling and giggling and twirling her hair.

"It's as if no one has died to some of them," he said miserably when they reached the second floor landing.

Harry felt like he'd been punched in the stomach.

"Oh, _Ron_ —" Hermione breathed.

"Don't," he said, shaking his head of shaggy red hair. "It's just- it's hard to be happy when you don't want to be, when you _shouldn't_ be, that's all."

Hermione's frightened eyes met Harry's. Grimly, he pressed the palm of his hand to Ron's shoulder.

"Ron," Harry said. "Fred wouldn't—"

"Don't say his name!" Ron roared, looking anguished. Hermione jumped back, startled, and Harry pulled his hand away hastily. Ron instantly looked horrified, his blue eyes swimming with tears. "I'm sorry, I'm _sorry_."

"I-it's okay, it's okay," Hermione said quickly, soothingly, her eyes, too, suddenly full of tears. She reached up and hugged him, then held her hand out towards Harry.

Harry swallowed hard, his throat tight, and took it; his other arm went around Ron's heaving shoulders.

"It's okay, it's okay," Hermione kept saying. "Everything will be okay. Everything will be alright."

They stood that way for a long time, and when Ron finally pulled away and awkwardly wiped his cheeks, he nodded hard and muttered, "Thanks."

"Ron," another voice said. "Harry, Hermione."

Harry turned to find Mrs. Weasley, looking haggard but smiling, by the Transfiguration classroom. In her arms was a bundle of blue blankets and something else, squirming and making strange noises: it resembled the cooing of a pigeon.

"There you three are," Mrs. Weasley said before turning to her youngest son. "I haven't seen you since—"

"Since yesterday, Mum?" Ron said with a hint of mirth in his voice, all traces of sadness now gone.

"Oh, you," she said, maneuvered the bundle to her shoulder, and gathered Ron in a one-armed hug. "How are you this morning?"

"Okay, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione answered just before getting a hug of her own.

"Is that Teddy, Mrs. Weasley?" Harry blurted.

Mrs. Weasley nodded. "Yes. Would you like to hold him?"

Harry backed up and shook his head. "I-I can't. I've never held a baby before."

"He's your _godson_," Mrs. Weasley said. "Now, hold out your arms like this. That's it. Careful, now."

The moment Harry Potter laid eyes on Teddy Lupin, his heart felt like it had shattered into a million pieces then mended itself within the second. He felt close to tears and laughter, and as carefully as he could, he reached for the tiny little hand Teddy held out before him. The wrinkled fingers clenched onto one of Harry's, soft and warm, and dark blue eyes stared at him unblinkingly as a bubble of laughter erupted from Harry's unwilling and dry throat.

"He's- he's great!" Harry said hoarsely, and tears poured down his face, unbidden.

"Oh, he's so sweet! Can I hold him after you?" Hermione sighed, head propped on Harry's right shoulder.

"Yeah, sure," Harry said, though he did not want to let him go.

"Blimey," Ron said, sounding stunned, peering over Harry's other shoulder. "Is his hair supposed to be purple?"

"Of course it is," Hermione said. "Just like his mum."

They did not talk after that. They took turns holding Teddy, Hermione looking very natural, and Ron the complete opposite. Harry took note of everything he could, and tried to pin it to Remus or Tonks; the hair, eyebrows, and eyes were all from Teddy's mother, and his nose and ears, quite large for his size, looked just like his father's.

Mrs. Weasley bustled back into the Transfiguration room while Harry, Ron and Hermione looked after Teddy. She came out ten minutes later, Andromeda Tonks just behind her, with a large bag on her shoulder.

The woman Harry had met on just one occasion looked pale and drawn, but her eyes were bright and she had a small smile on her face.

"Harry," she said. "I see you've met your godson."

"He's brilliant," he said honestly, looking down at the small boy with chubby cheeks and wispy- now maroon- hair. Drool slipped from the corner of Teddy's mouth, and Andromeda reached over and wiped it gently with the sleeve of her robe.

"I know this is all very sudden, but do you think you could take care of him for just an hour or two? I haven't been able to see about Remus and Tonks' services, you see…"

"I'd love to, Mrs. Tonks, really," Harry said, passing Teddy to Hermione, "but I've never—"

"Nonsense," she said at once. "Here."

In the bag Mrs. Weasley had slung over her shoulders were nappies and burp clothes, wipes and baby powder and dummies, two bottles full of milk with cooling charms placed upon them, and at least four infant bodysuits with the tags still on. Ron, Hermione and Mrs. Weasley fussed over Teddy as Mrs. Tonks told him just when Teddy needed to eat, when he needed to be changed, what to do if he cried, and how he liked to be sung to when sleepy.

"Err, yeah, alright," Harry said. "But how do I—?"

"He shouldn't need to be changed for an hour or two, and I'll probably have him back before you need to feed him, but just in case..." She took a deep breath and cut him off as he once again opened his mouth to protest. "Anything else, well, you'll figure it out; you're a smart lad. If you need anything, anyways, Molly will help."

She turned on her heel and took off without a glance back, sniffing hard and wiping at the corners of her eyes.

"Teddy's all she has left," Mrs. Weasley said once Teddy's grandmother had turned the corner, chin trembling and eyes glistening. The lines in her face deepened as she hiccupped, "We really should c-count our b-blessings."

Harry and Hermione stood back as Ron and his mother hugged in the middle of the corridor. The private moment didn't last long. The door to the Transfiguration classroom opened and an elderly woman, clutching the hands of two snotty toddlers, stepped out.

"Molly, I could use you in here," the old woman said. Harry found her vaguely familiar. "Ah, Mr. Potter! And Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger! I haven't personally congratulated you three." She hurried forward to shake their hands. "My grandson- you know him, of course- Neville, he must've on my behalf already, am I right?"

Harry's sharp intake of breath went unnoticed by everyone but Hermione. She cast him an uneasy look before shaking Mrs. Longbottom's hand.

"Yes, of course he did," she said easily, shifting Teddy awkwardly in her arms.

Harry plastered a smile on his face and wondered if Neville's grandmother knew about her grandson's relations as he shook her boney hand. Neville was close to her after all, he was raised by her. How could she _not_ know?

_She must be laughing at me._

"Well," Harry said before Mrs. Longbottom could proudly blather on about her backstabbing grandson. "I must be going. Hermione?" She transferred Teddy into his arms after he hoisted the pale blue changing bag onto his shoulder, staring at him. He could feel Ron's eyes on him, too.

"Where are you going?" she hissed, anxiously rearranging Teddy's blankets.

"Anywhere but here," he whispered before turning to Mrs. Longbottom. "It was nice seeing you again," he said as pleasantly as possible. "I'll see you later, Mrs. Weasley, Ron, Hermione."

He left much like Andromeda: quickly, and without looking back.

_~2 hours later…_

"Oh, thank god," Harry said, depositing a wailing Teddy Lupin carefully into the arms of Andromeda Tonks. His godson, now in a familiar embrace, quieted at once.

She flicked her wrist and checked her watch. "Right on time," she said, raising an eyebrow as he started to pace.

Harry clenched his hands into fists, unsure of what to do. If he stayed in the castle and bumped into Ginny and Neville sharing another intimate embrace, he may very well kill himself.

"Reckon he's hungry, or needs to be changed," he muttered absentmindedly.

He started to walk away, then turned back when he realized he was still carrying Teddy's changing bag. Andromeda gave him a cursory glance as she rocked Teddy.

"Is there something you want to talk about?"

The second floor corridor was empty. Ron and Hermione were nowhere near. Could he dump this on Andromeda? Would she even care? Even if he was balancing precariously on the edge of falling completely apart, this woman had just lost her family. A lot of people had. Romantic entanglements had no business cropping up now.

"No," he said and handed her the bag. "I- is everything- did you make arrangements for Remus and Tonks'…?" He trailed off, unable to say the words.

"Yes," she said softly. "Thank you for asking. And thank you for taking care of Teddy; it's good for him to get to know his godfather."

Harry nodded silently and took off, unsure of where to go, flying down the stairs blindly, skipping a step or two at a time, nearly breaking his neck at one point. He needed to put distance between himself and Ginny, up on the seventh floor with Neville, declaring her love for him.

They _loved_ each other.

Harry had heard it very clearly. He'd been absolutely stunned, was still stunned, in fact, at how blasé they were about it. They must've been in love for a long time, he concluded, to say it so candidly to one another.

Ginny had never said those words to him, and he hadn't said them to her, either. They'd only been together for a few weeks; it would've been wrong, given what he had had to accomplish at the time, the danger she would've been in if anyone found out.

Now, however, he wasn't so sure. Maybe he should've entrusted her with everything Dumbledore had told him. Maybe he should've taken her with him, Ron and Hermione. Maybe he should've told her that he loved her…

The thought stopped him cold in his tracks, just as he reached the ground floor of Hogwarts. Did he love Ginny Weasley? Was that the reason he was so distraught now? When he and Cho had broken off whatever they'd had, he hadn't been this miserable, had he?

_Definitely not_, a voice in his head, very similar to Hermione's, sniffed.

Breathless at his conclusion, Harry thought of Ginny as he had in his "last" moments, of her searing kiss and soft hair and blazing eyes.

"I love her," he whispered to the empty corridor. "I love Ginny Weasley."

Tom Riddle's laugh echoed in his head, _And she doesn't love you back._

Harry shook his head to clear it and ran to the rebuilding area just outside Hogwarts' oak front doors. A tent had been set up at the base of the Astronomy Tower, with three picnic tables beneath its wide shaded shelter; one was crowded with pitchers of water and pumpkin juice and plates of sandwiches, one covered with blueprints and large sheets of parchment, and the other was empty except for a couple of winded witches (Aurors by the looks of their robes) resting on its benches, fanning themselves with makeshift fans made of crinkled parchment paper.

Kingsley Shacklebolt, Gawain Robards, and Edgar Savage stood just outside the tent, looking up to the sky at half a dozen wizards on broomsticks, levitating stones and plastering them into the tower wall. Harry made his way over and shook their hands.

"Decided to show up, then?" Robards growled, gripping Harry's hand hard.

Harry pulled his hand away and glared. Before he could retort, Kingsley said, "Easy there, Robards. Harry was meeting his godson for the first time." He turned to Harry. "Ron relayed the message that you would be late. How is little Teddy?"

"He's great," Harry said honestly, but changed the subject when Robards' scowl deepened. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Actually, there's something important I need to talk to you about," Kingsley said.

As if choreographed, Robards and Savage took off, as well as the two witches in the tent. Kingsley guided Harry to where they'd been sitting after offering him food, to which he declined.

Kingsley threaded his fingers together and propped his chin atop them. Harry quizzically asked, "What is it?"

"You killed Voldemort."

"Technically, he killed himself," Harry joked half-heartedly.

Kingsley cracked a small smile, but it fell quickly. "His body is under high security, in the antechamber just off the Great Hall." After a pause and a deep breath, he said, "We need to know what you want to do with it."

Harry started. "What?"

"There is an ancient law that gives the vanquisher of any Dark wizard say in said Dark wizard's rites."

"But shouldn't the Ministry take care of it?" he asked.

"You could give us the permission to deal with the body, certainly."

Harry hesitated. Voldemort ruined his _life_. Suddenly, he was very interested to know what would happen to the body. "If I did give the Ministry permission, what would happen to it? To Voldemort's body?"

"All dead Dark wizards or witches handed over to the Ministry are cremated, then the ashes are Vanished into non-being, that way, there are no relics for someone to worship or use in any sort of Dark magic."

"That-that's alright, then," Harry said. A thick, glowing piece of parchment materialized in front of him. "What's this?"

"You have to sign over the body, as it's lawfully yours."

Harry grimaced. "Where's the nearest quill?"

Kingsley laughed, and Harry signed the legal document with a quick flourish. Just as the parchment disappeared, Ron, Hermione and Charlie strode into the tent. They'd hardly said "hello" to each other when Ron nodded towards the castle anxiously.

Harry turned to look. Neville was hurrying over, red-faced with something akin to anger.

He balled his hands into fists. If Neville wanted some sort of apology for him ruining their moment upstairs, then he was barking. He got the girl. What was he doing here? Rubbing it in his face?

"Neville," Harry said in a voice dripping with venom. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Harry did not see the fist flying at his face until it was too late.

Broken glasses fell off his face as pain erupted behind his left eye. Hermione screamed and Ron grabbed at Harry as he stumbled back, vision black.

"Bloody hell! What's was that for?" he shouted, clutching at his stinging face.

He opened his good eye and peered at Neville through blurry vision, restrained in Charlie's massive arms. Kingsley stood with his wand out and pointed at Neville.

"I can't say I saw that coming," Kingsley said as an apology.

"You _arse_, Harry Potter!" Neville spat, jerking hard to be let go of. Charlie only tightened his hold. With bulging eyes, he said, "It's your fault she's bring shipped to St. Mungo's!"

"What are you blathering about?" Ron said, carefully letting go of Harry. Hermione started to inspect his eye with cautious fingertips.

"Ginny!" he said. "In St. Mungo's!"

Harry could not believe his ears. He brushed away Hermione's hands impatiently as Charlie let Neville go abruptly, and he stumbled and fell onto his knees.

"I'm going to get Dad," Charlie said and ran off in the direction of the Ravenclaw Tower.

Neville started to get up, only to find the Minister's wand pointed straight at his face.

"Harry, I spoke with Ginny this morning. She and Neville aren't together. Did you say something to upset her?" Hermione said.

"What? _No_!" Harry said. "And I only just saw her and Neville up by the Gryffindor common room, declaring their love for one another!"

"What?" Neville said. "Is that what you thought that was?"

"What was it, then?" Harry roared, whipping his wand out. It didn't matter that he didn't have his glasses. He could hex Neville's hazy form just fine from where he was.

"It was two friends, making up after a row!"

"What are you—?"

"I kissed her, yesterday in the Hospital Wing. She didn't kiss me back." Harry's heart leapt into his throat and the monster in his chest howled in celebration. "It was stupid, and she nearly hexed me into next week for it."

"Where are my glasses?" Harry asked at once.

Ron held them up and Hermione fixed the broken lenses with a tap of her wand. Harry thrust them on to his face, wincing when the leg caught on the side of his face. He started off towards the castle but stopped when Neville said, "Harry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"Just… forget this ever happened, yeah?"

Mr. Weasley and Charlie ran past. Harry took off after them, followed quickly by Ron and Hermione.

Neville was left with Kingsley, who held a hand out to help him up after pocketing his wand.

"I've heard a lot about you, Mr. Longbottom."

"Minister?"

"I've been meaning to ask, have you ever considered becoming an Auror?"


	5. Chapter 5: War Torn

**Title**: These Arms

**Words**: 3,782

**Rating**: PG-13

**Genres**: Romance, Drama, Action/Adventure, Humor

**Characters**: Harry/Ginny, All

**Summary**: Ginny's path to Harry was clear. It's too bad that bravery, of all things, got in the way.

**Author's Note**: When I outlined this chapter, Harry and Ginny did not have any interaction at all near the end of it. I hope my decision to change that doesn't bite me in the ass. Also, I will not be posting chapter 6 until the beginning of April or so; I want to stay ahead by four chapters at the very least, and right now I've only got two more written out.

The title of this chapter is also the title of the song "War Torn" by Nicole Atkins; some of the lyrics are included.

Please review (constructive criticism is greatly appreciated) and enjoy!

**Chapter 5**: War Torn

_All I can do is explain_

_all of the reasons I cannot stay._

_I've been to the front lines_

_and now there's no trace of hope left inside._

_~Ginny. May 3__rd__, 1998._

"What happened to your _face_?" Ginny shouted in alarm. Harry frowned and she bit her tongue.

_Way to go, Weasley._

"Sorry," she said.

He took a deep breath. "No, _I'm_ sorry. I've been a complete wanker."

"The Chosen Wanker," she supplied, looking up at him through her lashes.

He smiled and agreed, "The Chosen Wanker."

Silence hung heavily for a moment, and then she said, "You could've talked to me, you know?"

"I know, but I didn't think you wanted to."

"Harry, I haven't seen you in _ages_. Of course I wanted to talk to you."

"I just thought- you and Neville- well, I didn't want to interfere or anything, if you wanted to be with him…" he trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

Carefully she said, "No, I've never wanted to be with Neville, not like I was with you." His sudden and infectious grin caught her off guard, and she found the corners of her mouth turning up. "So, what happened?" she asked curiously. "To your eye?"

"Let's just say Neville… knocked some sense into me."

"Neville did _that_? To _you_?"

"Well, I did put one of his best friends in St. Mungo's. I reckon I deserved it."

Cheeks lit red with embarrassment, Ginny stared down at her hospital gown and wished it wasn't so pink and itchy and… unattractive. She worried the hem of it with her good hand, unsure of what to say, what to do. She could feel Harry's eyes on her, which heated her face even further, and hoped he wasn't waiting for some kind of explanation; she certainly didn't have one for him, anyways.

"Err, I got you these," he said, thrusting the white tulips at her and placing the chocolates on her bed.

A shock of thrill shot up her spine.

"Thank you," she said shyly, hiding half her face in the velvety petals. "No one's ever gotten me flowers before."

"Do… do you like them?"

She nodded and sniffed them thoughtfully; they smelled clean and flowery. "I'll have Mum put them in water when she comes back."

"I've got it," he said.

He walked over to the bathroom connected to her room and started rummaging in a cupboard for another vase. Ginny took several deep and calming breaths.

Before The Battle of Hogwarts, she had made a vow to herself to take care of her family and to be anything Harry wanted her to be; his best mate's sister, his friend, a member of his army, his _girl_friend. So much had changed, though, and she wasn't sure if she could keep her own promise.

Taking care of her family was one thing, but now that Harry had done his noble deed, what did _she_ want? Did she want to be his girlfriend? Did she want to be his friend? Or now, with a brother and a few of her dearest friends dead, did she want Harry to be Ron's best mate and nothing more?

"You're crying."

Ginny wiped at her down-turned face hastily. "No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are." Harry stood there with a glass water jug, looking helpless. "Are you okay? Do you need a Healer? What-what's wrong?"

"My brother's dead."

He sucked in a pained breath. "Ginny—"

"My brother's dead, and all I can think about is you." She looked into his startled green eyes, decision excruciatingly made, his image a blur in her watery eyes. "Would you hate me if I said I just wanted to be friends?"

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, and he took a measured step forward. "Ginny," he said again, softer this time. "I'll be whatever you want me to be."

She tore her eyes away from his when the door opened, and Ron and Hermione came in. She and Harry would have hours and days and maybe years in which to talk. Now, however, was not the time.

_~May 4__th__, 1998._

It had been almost two months since Ginny had seen and been inside of the Burrow. When she and her mother and father escaped in the middle of the night during her Easter holiday, it was left practically immaculate: there wasn't a single dish in the kitchen sink, the dining table had been scrubbed clean, and the living room had been well dusted.

Wondering what she would find today, she hurried up the rickety stoop at the back of the Burrow to escape the burning sun on the back of her neck, and followed her parents into the only home she'd ever lived in.

She stopped at the threshold. The smell of something extremely burnt assaulted her nostrils- she felt faint at the thought that there might not be anything left at all.

_Please, please let there be something… something of Fred's…_

It took her a moment to adjust to the darkness within the kitchen. Once she did, she noticed that it was empty of all furniture (she could only recall it being nearly this bare once, when Ron had gone off to his first year at Hogwarts and her mother had proclaimed how wonderful it was to have all the boys away to finally do some _productive_ cleaning), the doors of all their cabinetry were gone, and all of the plates within had disappeared as well.

"Did they take everything or…?" There was a knot in her throat, and she couldn't continue.

"No," Dad said. "Nothing was taken, just damaged. We had to toss a lot of things out, though."

"The dining table and chairs? The cabinet doors?"

"They're in the garage."

"Oh, are we going to sand and stain them?" she asked. She turned towards her mother, who stood at the sink with her back to her. "You've wanted to do that for a while, haven't you, Mum?"

"Stop asking so many questions, Ginevra!" she snapped. "Go up to your room!"

"But—" she started to protest.

"Ginny, you were just discharged from St. Mungo's," Dad sighed tiredly, siding with his wife like he usually did when she was in one of her moods. He propped his glasses up onto his fingers and messaged the bridge of his nose. "Go upstairs and rest. We have a busy day ahead of us."

With a trembling chin, Ginny gathered her bags, which had been brought over earlier from Auntie Muriel's, and fought to keep from sobbing as she ran up the stairs. When she burst into her room, she did not bother to look around. She slammed her door shut, threw her things into her empty closet, and flung herself into bed to cry.

It wasn't long before she fell into a fitful sleep. She drifted in and out of it, dreaming about darkness and light and shadows. Fred weaved in and out of them more often than Tonks and Remus and Colin, and Harry glided through her dreams (or were they nightmares?), too.

When she finally woke up, hours later, tangled in sheets she hadn't remembered pulling over herself, it was agony thinking she would never see any of them again. She had to remind herself that Harry wasn't dead, even though her mind's eye saw him in Hagrid's arms, limbs limp and clothes tattered.

More exhausted than she'd been before falling asleep, she stared for a long time up at her ceiling, letting hot tears pour down her temples and into her knotted hair.

The sun was framed in her window, still high in the sky. She curled around her pillow in a fetal position to watch it listlessly, eyes burning at its fiery light, just as a knock sounded on her door. She swiped at her wet face and did not get up, but murmured, "Come in."

Fleur glided into her bedroom. Hermione walked in after her looking disgruntled and said, "I- _we've_ come to help you get dressed."

"I can do it on my own," she said, glowering out the window.

"But, your arm—" Fleur protested.

"—will be completely healed in a few days. Go _away_."

Fleur sniffed and flounced out, muttering in French. Ginny turned to Hermione, ready to send her away, too.

"You're not getting rid of me," she said, crossing her arms defiantly, leaning on the door until it closed. "No amount of shouting or screaming will scare me away. I'm here to help you, and if you don't take my help, you're going to get it whether you like it or not."

Ginny glared, but Hermione did not back down. With a resentful sigh, she asked, "Shouldn't you be helping Ron or something? You two are together now, aren't you?"

Hermione blushed. "Yes, but Harry's up with him…"

"Oh," she breathed, carefully sitting up.

_Harry's just upstairs _and_ I wish he'd come down to see me_, she thought in quick succession, before she could stop herself.

_You broke it off completely, Weasley. You made your bed, now it's time to lay in it._

"Harry told me," Hermione said hesitantly, after seeing the look on her face. She always knew when she was distressing over Harry. Hermione took her wand out of the folds of her black robes and jerked it towards the bags in the closet. They zipped open, and the clothes hung themselves neatly on hangers. "Friends, Ginny? Are you sure it's what you want?"

"No," she whispered honestly, drawing her knees to her chest. "I'm not sure of anything." She looked up at Hermione and hated how her eyes held sympathy and sadness.

Yesterday, when Harry had left her room in St. Mungo's, he'd given her only a small smile goodbye. Would a kiss have been better? Would it bring her warmth when all she felt was Dementor-like cold in her heart?

Hermione picked out Ginny's only black robes and set them on her bed. Thankfully, she changed the subject and asked what she'd like to wear beneath them.

"Black?" Ginny said in attempt at a joke.

Hermione did not smile. "Right."

As Hermione sorted through the closet, Ginny finally took in her bedroom. It wasn't much different than when she'd seen it last. The walls were still a bright and sunny yellow, but the posters that had once adorned them were gone. Her desk sat where it always had in front of her window, but its chair was missing and her curtains, once a soft blue, were now white.

She got up and undressed with some difficulty. Hermione helped her untangle her sling from her rumpled Weird Sisters t-shirt and balance when she slipped out of her loose-fitting denim jeans. Ginny then slung on a tiered skirt, a blouse, and tugged on her old and dirty Converse trainers, all black, before throwing on her robes.

She did not glance at herself in the mirror; she knew she'd only see a plain girl with tousled carroty-red hair, eyes rimmed purple, and skin, dusted with freckles, far paler than it should be.

Hermione handed her a comb and waited expectantly. Rolling her eyes, Ginny pulled it over her sore head and carefully through her knotty hair, thankful that she'd been able to get rid of the ugly gauze turban that morning. She put the comb on her nightstand and said, "Ready, I suppose."

Voices carried up to the first floor landing, none of them distinguishable. Ginny took a deep breath and descended into the overcrowded kitchen. Dozens of witches and wizards were packed into the stifling room, and she immediately wanted to leave. From behind, Hermione gave her a gentle push, and she was plunged into a sea of faceless people offering their condolences. She took them with a forced smile, shook their hands, and did not meet their eyes. The only thing she cared about was reaching the back door to the garden.

She gulped in the fresh spring air and fell against the back porch railing, nearly sobbing with relief as she threw the door shut behind her. She'd lost Hermione in the crowd. She was blissfully alone.

Or so she'd thought.

"Are you alright?"

Her heart skipped a beat at the warm, familiar voice. She turned and found herself, curiously, in the presence of Harry (whose left eye was now a shade of putrid yellow) and Neville, both dressed in black and holding on to perspiring butterbeers, looking at her with concern.

_Oh, no_, she inwardly groaned as Harry stepped nearer to her. _He looks so good. If Neville wasn't here…_ she trailed off, sure she would jump him if he came any closer.

"Oh, yes," she lied smoothly. "I'm fine. Err, excuse me, will you?"

Ginny turned, intending on hurrying back inside, when the back door opened and Dean and Luna stumbled out.

"Ginny," Luna said, eyes sparkling like stars.

"Hi, Luna," she said. She nodded at Dean in greeting.

Luna glanced around, a grin spreading across her face. "If only Michael Corner was here. And that one boy… remember him? Ronald's best friend before Hogwarts?"

"Of course I remember him," Ginny said, confused. "Why?"

"Well, then all the people you've kissed would be in the same place at the same time," she said, waving an empty shot glass around vaguely.

The very tips of Ginny's ears started to burn, an occasion that happened only when she was extremely uncomfortable. She could feel Harry staring at her.

Dean winced. "Sorry, I didn't know the firewhiskey would loosen her up _that_ much." A look of pure glee suddenly dawned upon his face. "Wait a moment." He turned to Luna. "You aren't saying that you and Ginny—?"

Luna nodded energetically, her Dirigible plum earrings in full swing. Ginny's lungs felt like they were full of lead, it was so hard to breathe.

Mortified and sweating under the gazes of the boys, she laughed uneasily and said, "I think Luna's had a bit much to drink. Come on, Luna, I've got something for that inside."

"But I've just gotten _outside_," she protested as Ginny shoved her into the packed kitchen. "You can't be mad at me- it was just an observation- and you shouldn't be ashamed."

"I'm not mad at you, and I'm not ashamed," Ginny muttered, looking left and right for Hermione. Hopefully, she knew how to cast a powerful Sobriety Charm.

Luna was Ginny's "unofficial" first kiss (it was "unofficial" because Ginny decided it to be- for no other reason but that). They had both agreed at the age of ten that learning how to kiss would be a good idea before going off to Hogwarts.

What seemed like a brilliant plan at the time was not one now.

"You never talk about it," Luna said with an uncharacteristic pout. "You never told any of your boyfriends about it."

"_Ex_-boyfriends, Luna," Ginny said. "And it's no matter now, you've just told the lot of them, all at the same time."

"No, no," she said. "Neville was never your boyfriend. And Michael Corner and what's-his-name, _they_ don't know!"

She rolled her eyes. "Right. Whatever." She spotted Hermione near the staircase with Ron. "Oh, thank _god_."

"Ron! _Ron_! What was that boy's name, the boy who was your best friend before he disappeared?" Luna asked as soon as they stood before the new couple.

"Err," Ron said. He glanced at Ginny, and she shrugged at him. "Hadwyn Grubstick. Why?"

Ginny would never forget her "official" first kiss. It had been with him, Hadwyn Grubstick, a plain, brown-eyed, brown haired boy, behind the broom shed in her backyard, the day before his eleventh birthday. It had been his gift from her.

Funny, how she'd given another boy that very same birthday gift just last year….

Before Luna could explain, Ginny said, "Hermione, do you know how to cast a Sobriety Charm?"

"I've never performed it, but I've read about it," she said, adjusting her headband with her free hand; her other was in Ron's.

"Can you please…?" Ginny nodded towards Luna.

"Oh!" Hermione said.

Hermione whipped out her wand and not a second after the charm hit Luna square in the face, she was groaning and holding her head in pain.

"Oh, Ginny, I'm so sorry," Luna moaned. "I didn't mean to tell them about you and me kissing."

"What?" Ron said.

Hermione's eyebrows flew up into her hairline.

Ginny groaned. Today was going to be an awfully long day.

Ginny stirred her second cup of tea absentmindedly and looked out the window before the kitchen sink. Anyone watching her would think she was taking in the beauty of the pond in the garden, glowing orange from the setting sun, or perhaps watching Harry pace near the overgrown hedges, or even studying Ron and Hermione, sitting and embracing on the back porch. She did not see any of it, however. Her mind could not let go of the image of Fred's pale face, stark against his vibrant red hair, framed within his coffin.

She'd kept it together through his and Colin's wakes. She hadn't shed a single tear. It wasn't until her family, Harry and Hermione returned to the Burrow, and she watched her mother and father ascend to their bedroom, nearly in pieces, when she finally fell apart.

Thankfully, Bill had been there to catch her. His long arms wove around her shoulders, and she'd cried into his neck for what felt like hours. Everyone but Fleur fled the room; Charlie could never take displays of great emotional upheaval; Percy never knew the right thing to say in such situations; and Ron and Hermione took off after Harry, who'd looked distraught at the sound of her wracking sobs.

When she'd calmed down, Fleur pressed a warm mug of tea into her hands. It burned down her throat and left a bitter taste in her mouth- a splash of firewhiskey had been added- not that she'd minded. Anything to take her mind off of things….

Her gaze focused on her brother and his girlfriend, and her thoughts wandered to the day Hermione would become her sister-in-law.

_If Ron doesn't bugger it all up, that is,_ she thought, smiling softly.

_If only Fred could see the day…_

She tried to clear her head when her eyes started to burn. She hadn't noticed Hermione's arrival just beside her a moment later.

"Hey," Hermione said.

Ginny did not meet her eyes. "Hi." She sniffed hard and continued to stare out the window. Harry was now talking to Ron quietly by the pond. Merlin, he looked good in his standard black robes, though they did look a little tight across his shoulders. He'd filled out, back and chest broader than she remembered.

_Not that that's a bad thing_, she thought, dreamily recalling dragging her nails across his collarbone and shoulders and receiving the most tantalizing moan against her lips.

If her mother knew the things she'd done with Harry…. She snorted softly, then turned somber. Her mother was broken, upstairs with her father, probably bawling her eyes out. Maybe she should go check on them…

"Ginny?"

Hermione had been speaking to her. She was holding out a handkerchief, and Ginny took it gratefully. She blew her runny nose and said, "I'm sorry. What did you say?"

"I was asking you if you wanted help changing…"

"Oh. No, I'm okay." Hermione rubbed a hand gently across Ginny's back. She turned into her and hugged her, feeling strange. Who was she supposed to think about at a time like this? Fred or Harry? Her mother or herself? She couldn't come up with a straight answer. Feeling conflicted, she sighed and whispered, "I hate this."

"I'm so sorry, Ginny."

"One minute, I'm thinking about Fred, the next, your wedding, then Harry, then Mum. I can't get my thoughts in order."

"My _wedding_?" Hermione whispered, sounding flabbergasted, incredulous and hopeful all at once.

Another voice said, "Maybe you should write zem down, your zoughts."

Ginny turned. She'd forgotten that Fleur was in the kitchen, sitting next to Bill, who had the bottle of Ogden's and a shot glass perched precariously on a small round table right beside him.

"She's right, you know," Bill said.

"Is she?" Anger flared like a spark within her. "You think a _diary_ is really going to help?"

Fleur had the decency to look horrified. "Ginny, I did not mean—"

"Right, of _course_ you 'did not mean—'"

"That's enough, Ginny," Bill said warningly.

"Bugger off, Bill!"

He got up, cheeks ruddy with rage. The scar across his face stretched horribly, was a shock of glowing white, as he said, "Don't you start, Gin! You know you always go too far!"

"Beel," Fleur said placidly. "Beel, it is okay. I should not 'ave—"

"Don't you dare apologize, Fleur!"

"I am not!" she said, glaring. "I do not apologize, because I am never wrong!"

Ginny scoffed, "That's likely."

Bill slammed his hand on the table, upturning the bottle of firewhiskey, and roared, "Ginny, you—!"

"What the bloody hell is going on in here?" Ron was standing at the door, looking at the scene with annoyance. Harry stood beside him, looking over at her questioningly.

_Are you okay?_ Harry's eyes read. Ginny wanted nothing more than to have him take her far, far away from here.

"Ron, don't—" Hermione said.

But it was too late. Ginny jumped back as Bill threw the bottle into the fireplace and started towards her. The small flame within it burst to life.

She cringed and shut her eyes tightly, waiting for his infamous Stinging Hex to strike her. It never came.

"Move, Harry!"

"Put you wand down, Bill," Harry said, his voice calm and strong. "You'll regret it when you're sober."

Ginny opened her eyes. Harry stood between her and Bill's wand tip, unarmed.

"The things she says to Fleur! The way she mocks her!" Bill said, shaking. He glared at her over Harry's shoulder. "I'm tired of it! She's my _wife_, Ginny. She's your _sister-in-law_. Grow up and accept it."

Bill turned on his heel, pocketing his wand, and flew out the room, Fleur hurrying after him. Harry turned to Ginny, but she stared at the swinging door, feeling sick.

_Don't leave, too, Bill._

"Are you alright?" Harry's warm and calloused hands cupped her cheeks, forcing her to look at him. His thumbs brushed at the tears she had not noticed falling rapidly down her face, his green eyes were full of worry. "Ginny?"

She shook her head. She was trembling all over. "I-I don't know."

The living room door flew open, and she gasped and clutched Harry's arm. But it was only Charlie and Percy, looking confused.

"Bill and Fleur just took off," Charlie said. "What happened?"

"Come on, Ginny," Harry said swiftly. "Let's go for a walk."


	6. Chapter 6: Truly Madly Deeply

**Title**: These Arms

**Words**: 3,730

**Rating**: PG-13

**Genres**: Romance, Drama, Action/Adventure, Humor

**Characters**: Harry/Ginny, All

**Summary**: Ginny's path to Harry was clear. It's too bad that bravery, of all things, got in the way.

**Author's Note**: March has been utter madness. Not only did my 2 year old niece visit for two weeks solid (and thus, had to baby-sit quite often), but the air conditioner in my house broke, I caught my mother's cold, got pinkeye, and obtained, not one, but _two_ German Shepherd puppies that I didn't necessarily want. As a sort of celebratory gift to the end of such a horrendous month, I'm posting this chapter when I know I shouldn't. Here's the catch: I can't give a definite time frame for when the next one will be up. Sorry.

Also, I know NC-17 isn't allowed here, and that's good and fine, but do any of you care if I bump this up to an R rating, or do you think I should keep it at PG-13? It's really up to you all; majority vote wins. Let me know in a review or message, please!

The title of this chapter is also the title of the song "Truly Madly Deeply" by Savage Garden, the corniest, loveliest song on the planet; some of the lyrics are included. Enjoy!

**Chapter 6**: Truly Madly Deeply

_I'll be your dream, I'll be your wish, I'll be your fantasy._

_I'll be your hope, I'll be your love, be everything that you need._

_I'll love you more with every breath, truly, madly, deeply do._

_~Harry. May 4__th__, 1998._

The morning of Fred and Colin's wakes was a busy and stressful one for Harry. He found himself dressed in his brand new Auror uniform and having his photograph taken with the Minister and the Head of the Auror Department in the Atrium of the Ministry, right before being whisked into a large press conference room on Level One for an interview with the _Daily Prophet_, _Evening Prophet_, _Quibbler_, and half a dozen other newspapers and magazines.

The only thing he'd wanted to do, the only thing he knew he couldn't do, was go see Ginny.

Ron and Hermione hadn't been able to accompany him for the interview. They were provided with a Ministry car to take them to purchase plane tickets to Australia (all travels by Portkey to and from the United Kingdom were postponed until further notice). Any questions, therefore, pertaining to the mission they and Harry had accomplished, were answered with a, "No comment," for the time being.

The reporters did not take the hint.

"People _died_ while you were in hiding," a balding journalist had bellowed over the din. "Why weren't you out there, fighting? What were you doing while you were away?"

Harry's stomach was in knots by the end of it.

When he was ushered into the Minister's office afterwards, where he'd stored his belongings when he'd arrived, he immediately pulled off the blood red robes and wondered again if he was doing the right thing.

"Did I even answer any questions?" Harry asked Kingsley gruffly, tugging on his standard black robes. "Or was that the biggest waste of time?"

Kingsley stood by his desk, which sat in front of a wall of bookshelves full to bursting with dusty tomes and ancient scrolls of parchment. He was shaking his head, looking far more amused that he should. "No, you answered a few questions. Some weren't very important, mind—"

Harry groaned. One of the questions by a reporter from _Witch Weekly_ was positively outrageous. "They wanted to know if I'd fathered a bastard child with Hermione! What was their reasoning for that?"

Kingsley was diplomatic enough not to laugh. "I think it had something to do with the fact that you were gone for nine months."

He groaned again. He did not want to be in the room when Ron found out about _that_ question, no matter how quickly he denied the rumor with something akin to horror in his voice.

Tea arrived a moment later via house elf dressed in the tiniest robes Harry had ever seen. The elf snapped his fingers, and the tray laden with crumpets, butter and jam, and tea floated to the sideboard by a large oval table with several chairs, before he bowed with a sneer out of the room.

Harry shot Kingsley a look.

"He's distrustful of politicians," Kingsley said. "Can't blame him, of course, not with the sods he's had to work for."

They shared a laugh and settled at the oval table. Harry spread butter and strawberry jam thickly on his crumpet, and when he took a very large bite, he realized that Kingsley was watching him curiously over the rim of his teacup.

He swallowed hard and said, "What is it?"

"I asked Neville Longbottom to be a part of the Auror Department."

"Oh," Harry said, chewing another bite of food thoughtfully. "Well, that's all right, yeah?"

"It is?" Kingsley said, surprised.

Harry nodded. Though he still felt a little sore with Neville, it would be damn hard to dislike the bloke for one tiny misjudgment. "He led the resistance at Hogwarts, he cut off Nagini's head in front of Voldemort himself, and he's got bullocks the size of boulders for trying to get on with Ginny." He laughed and continued, "I'm surprised he wasn't covered in bat bogeys when I saw him last, actually."

"So, it's all right, then?" Kingsley genuinely seemed to want Harry's approval.

"Yes," Harry said honestly. "It is."

After they finished tea, Kingsley showed Harry to the Auror Offices. He was introduced on the way in to two new members of the Auror Department, twin witches that had transferred just that morning from the Hit Wizard Department, and then asked by the Minister to choose a cubicle. The entire row on the right hand side of the room was empty.

A lot of Auror members had been lost during the war.

Harry walked slowly to the end of the line of cubicles and chose the last desk, nearest to the magical windows that let in bright sunlight.

"Is this one all right?" he asked.

Kingsley nodded, and looked away as he said, "It used to be Tonks'."

Harry felt his stomach drop, but carefully dug in his bag for two picture frames. One held a picture of him, Ginny, Ron and Hermione during his 6th year, before Dumbledore's death, and the other was of his parents at their wedding.

Kingsley was watching him as he placed them on his desk. "Reckon you need one of Teddy…" He reached into the pocket of his robe and withdrew a very small notebook. Harry tried not to stare as Kingsley gazed down, smiling, at a picture of a beautiful, dark-skinned woman with shining black hair and bright blue eyes. He flipped through the miniature photo album until he reached the end. "There we are."

With a wave of his wand, Kingsley conjured a picture frame, slipped the picture of a newborn Teddy in to it, and placed it on Harry desk.

"Thank you," Harry said.

"You're welcome."

Kingsley gave Harry a rough pat on the back and steered him around, giving him a tour of the fitness room, classrooms and training facilities for the Auror Department. It was just after noon when they parted ways, Kingsley off to the funeral of a late colleague and Harry to the Burrow.

When he arrived there by Apparation, Ron was hurling gnomes over the hedges of his back garden.

"Need any help?" he called in greeting, walking towards him.

Ron dusted off his hands and said, "Nah, I'm just…"

_Trying to keep your mind off things,_ Harry finished silently.

Ron was sweating and staring out over the garden, as if reminiscent. Harry did not disturb him, and he quietly sat down in the shade of the porch and put his bag beside him. He felt someone sit on his other side as Ron resumed de-gnoming the garden. It was Hermione.

"He's been out here since we got back," she said.

"Where's Ginny?" he asked before he could stop himself.

"Sleeping." He nodded. He should've known. She _had _just been released from St. Mungo's. "Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are, too," Hermione said. "Well, they're in their room, anyways. I don't think they can really sleep, not with Fred's wake in a few hours."

"Yeah," he said unnecessarily, feeling a stab of pain for the loss of Fred, for the pain the Weasleys were going through.

They sat together in silence and watched Ron for another half hour before Hermione went to him, carefully winding her arms around him. Harry got up, unable to watch as Ron's shoulders started to shake, climbed the last stair to the porch, and crossed it in a stride. He walked into the Burrow, unfamiliar and bare, and leaned against the sink, eyes shifting like magnets to stare at the staircase that would take him straight to Ginny.

_Not now, not now, _he thought desperately, trying to placate himself. The monster in his chest whined. _This is not the time._

_She wants to be friends, _he reminded himself sternly, but his feet were moving and before he knew it, he was looking down on her sleeping form.

How long he stood there, he didn't know, but he could not take his eyes off of her. She tossed and turned frequently in her sleep, and he watched, fascinated, as she swiped irritably at her hair, her freckles stark against her pale face, and she pulled her soft pink lips, lips he wished to cover with his own, into a frown he would've thought adorable if not for the circumstance.

Hermione called softly to him from the doorway, just as he was brushing the few bothersome copper strands of hair off of Ginny's cold cheeks. He sighed, wishing he could crawl into bed with her and wrap her in his arms.

_That would warm her up, _he thought before mentally shaking himself.

What was he _doing_ in here?

Before he could tear himself completely away, he searched through Ginny's closet for a blanket. All he could find was a thin sheet, and he threw it over her prone body before exiting.

In the hallway, Hermione had her arms crossed and an expectant expression on her face.

"I can't help it," he said and started to pace.

"I know," she said.

"But—"

"She just wants to be friends. I know."

"Ron's going to kill me, isn't he?" After leaving St. Mungo's yesterday, he'd told both Hermione _and_ Ron what Ginny had said to him. Ron had looked so cross, Harry thought he was going to get a matching black eye to go with the one Neville had given him.

Hermione scoffed. "Please, Harry. Ron thinks _Ginny's_ the one making the mistake." This was news to him, and the shock he felt must've been mirrored on his face because Hermione snorted out a laugh. "I think it has something to do with the fact that I can take his mind off of things… if you catch my meaning."

"Wait, _what_?" he squawked, coming to a stop in front of her. "Ron thinks Ginny needs—"

"A snog?" Hermione finished for him, smiling. "Yes."

"I'd be more than happy to," he said, to which she wrinkled her nose. "But she doesn't _want_ to."

Hermione sighed "Give her some time, like she's asked, and take it like the man that you are. Or, change her mind."

"'Change her mind'?" he repeated dumbly.

Hermione nodded. "Now, come on. I need your help downstairs."

He followed her into the kitchen to find Ron and his brother Charlie shooting back small glasses of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey.

"'Arry!" Charlie called boisterously. "Come have a drink with us!"

A shot glass was pressed into his hand, and he drank it, mostly to be polite. Ron's face, he noticed, was ruddy, and he wondered how many Charlie had forced upon Ron while he'd been upstairs.

The four of them started to set up rows of butterbeers and pumpkin juice. Bill, Fleur and Percy arrived a few minutes later. Fleur had levitated in more beverages and started to make tea while Bill and Percy brought in a few small tables and chairs.

Soon, the kitchen was filled with Weasleys and their distant family and friends. Harry greeted the haggard Mr. and Mrs. Weasley with a hug each when they came down the narrow stairs, then went upstairs with Ron. He helped him find his black robes, then changed his loafers for black trainers, before heading back downstairs. He caught sight of Kingsley by the back door, speaking with Neville, and made his way over.

"Ah, Harry," Kingsley said, shaking his hand in greeting. "I was just telling Neville how much you wanted him to be a part of the Auror Department."

Harry said sincerely, "You'd be a really great asset." Neville stared at him, stunned. "There's no doubt your grandmother would approve."

"Well, yeah," Neville said slowly.

"He still hasn't taken the offer. Persuade him, will you?"

Kingsley left them, and Harry reached over to the counter and handed Neville a cold butterbeer. "Let's talk outside."

Neville followed him out and said immediately, "Harry, look, I'm sorry about Ginny—"

"I know," Harry said. "But I should be thanking you. You took care of her, of everyone, while I was… away." He took a long pull of his butterbeer and stared over at the pond, where George stood with Lee Jordan and Angelina Johnson. "Let's just forget it ever happened."

Neville nodded firmly, looking embarrassed, and took a drink of his butterbeer.

"So," Harry said. "Why haven't you taken Kingsley up on his offer? You're not planning on redoing your 7th year, are you?"

"Bloody hell, no," he responded with a shudder, and Harry laughed. "I just don't think I'll be good at it, the Auror thing."

"You're wrong," Harry said at once. "What do you think this last year's been?"

Neville shrugged. "I dunno. War, obviously."

Harry silently agreed. "Well, you should take it, the offer. The Auror Department is really shorthanded. I've got Ron, though he'll be off in Australia for a bit before officially joining, then there's Terry Boot, Ernie MacMillan, and even Eloise Midgen- can you believe it?- all joining. They start next week."

"I'll think about it," Neville said shortly. "Kingsley gave me until Friday to decide."

Just as Harry was about to respond, Ginny darted out of the Burrow, gasping for air. The surprise of her arrival gave way to worry at once.

"Are you alright?" he asked her.

Her eyes flew to his, and the heat that sparked within them caused him to clench his bottle of butterbeer so hard, he was surprised it didn't shatter in his grip. Being friends with Ginny was going to be difficult. The urge to take her in his arms and Apparate far away from here was so great, he found himself taking a step towards her…

"Oh, yes." Her lie was practically perfect. He would have believed her, too, if he hadn't noticed the corner of her mouth twitch. "I'm fine. Err, excuse me, will you?"

The scene went from slightly uncomfortable to extremely bizarre with the arrival of Luna and Dean. It would've been all right, if Dean hadn't made the connection…

"You aren't saying that you and Ginny—?"

_Kissed_. Harry's eyes flew between Ginny and Luna before they escaped his, Neville, and Dean's questioning and intense gazes. The back door to the Burrow slammed shut, and Harry shook his clouded head.

Dean whistled and Neville cleared his throat awkwardly. The collar of Harry's robes felt tight. "I won't pretend I wouldn't want to see that, now," Dean divulged unnecessarily, waggling his eyebrows.

Harry was thankfully saved from having to reply when half a dozen black, Ministry provided cars pulled into the drive to take everyone to Fred's wake. He took a measured breath and stepped into the overcrowded kitchen of the Burrow, in search of Ron and Hermione.

Harry knew exactly what he was doing when he stepped in front of Bill's wand. There was no way he could stand there and watch him hex Ginny, whether she deserved it or not; he didn't care that this was a row between siblings. She was distraught, they all were, and he knew for certain that the eldest of the Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's offspring would regret it when he was sober.

The sun had set and the sky was a haze of purple as he led Ginny silently out of the Burrow and towards the garden gate. She stopped at it and looked at him tiredly.

"Where are we going? We shouldn't go out of the wards…" She sounded so weary, he nearly stopped right there.

"Where's your sense of adventure?" he finally said and held the gate open expectantly. Ginny marched through halfheartedly, smiling faintly at him.

"I see what you did there," she said as they walked together towards the orchard.

"I didn't do anything," he innocently replied. The lilt in her voice had made his heart soar. Maybe this friend thing wouldn't be so bad, as long as he got to be near her and make her happy.

"Liar," she said, bumping her shoulder playfully into his arm.

"No better than you," he said.

She laughed softly, and then her hand was in his and her head was resting on his arm as they walked through the shadows of the trees. The sky was getting darker, the brightest stars already flickering at them. Their walk outside would be ending very soon, and Harry heard Hermione's voice in his head…

_Give her some time… or, change her mind._

He cleared his throat, but his voice came out gruffly. "Friends don't usually hold hands, Ginny."

She pulled away abruptly, and Harry immediately missed her warmth. He peered at her through the inky darkness surrounding them, wishing he could see her face better. From what he could make out, she looked… offended.

"I just meant that I'm confused." _There_; it didn't sound so bad when he put the blame on himself. "You want to be friends, but I don't. And then you go and look at me, like you did on the porch earlier, or hold my hand. I don't mind, of course," he said in a rush when her frown deepened. "I'd just like some clarity. What can we do, as friends? Hold hands? Holding hands is great. What about, err, hugging? Would that be awkward? Can we—?"

Her lips were smooth and warm against his, and without thinking twice, he wound his arms around her and pulled her close.

_Finally. Heaven, _he thought, and thought no more.

"Stop talking," she murmured against his mouth.

"I'm not," he said back, his fingers in her soft hair. She moaned as he caressed the nape of her neck. "Not anymore." He lost himself when she tugged desperately at his bottom lip with her teeth. "This is definitely not 'friendly,' by the way," he gasped.

"Hush!"

They did not talk for the next several minutes, and Harry found himself trying to control his frantic fingertips, which pulled gently on her hair and tugged at the waist of her robes. He was blind, and she was Braille, and he could not get enough of her.

_Off, _was all he could think of, hot all over. _Off. Off._

He pushed her back against the nearest tree, and she hitched her leg, knee against his hip. He grabbed it, groaning loudly, and she whimpered as he pressed his pelvis into hers.

_Off, off, off._

She rubbed against him, and his skin was on fire, his legs like jelly; he was a goner.

A twig snapped far in the distance, or did it seem far away because his head was so foggy? Harry pulled away from Ginny, blood roaring in his ears. He took a few deep breaths to slow his pounding heart.

"Harry?" Ginny breathed. "Harry, what—?"

"We shouldn't be out here," he said quietly, pulling away from her reluctantly. He pulled out his wand. "Let's go back to the Burrow."

"Okay," she said, smoothing her robe down and collecting herself. "Okay."

They hurried back to the safety of the Burrow's wards, and once they were in the gate, with the kitchen light flooding the garden, Harry tucked a strand of tangled hair behind Ginny's ear.

"Alright?" he asked.

She nodded. "I'm sorry I didn't get to answer all of your questions," she said with a grin.

He'd cooled off on the walk back, but his cheeks were still hot, he didn't know if he was blushing or not.

"Did it take your mind off things?" he asked. The light dancing in her chocolate brown eyes sputtered out, and he knew immediately that it was the wrong thing to say. "Ginny—"

"Don't," she said.

He tried again. "Ginny—"

"Maybe we can talk about it in… in a few days?"

"A few days?" he repeated numbly. "But—"

"I don't know what I want right now, Harry," she said so quietly, he wondered if she could hear his heart shattering. "Everything's so confusing."

"I know it is," he said, capturing her right hand with both of his. "I know it is, but I can be there for you."

She shook her head. "This is wrong, Harry."

"What just happened? Do you- do you regret that?" he asked, hoping against hope…

Ginny turned away from him, her hand sliding out of his. "Yes. No. I don't know."

Anger flared within him, and before he could stop himself, he said, "What about Ron and Hermione?"

Her eyes were as cold as ice as she glared at him and said, "I am not Ron. _You _are not Ron, and _I_ am certainly _not _Hermione, nor do I _want _to be."

"I didn't mean it like that," he said, horrified. He grabbed her arm as she whirled away. "I don't want you to be Hermione." This felt like him and Cho Chang, back in fifth year, but this time, with Ginny, he wasn't about to let her go, let her believe...

"I don't care what you want," she hissed, pulling roughly away. "You got what you wanted a year ago, when you left me."

"I didn't want that!" he said, hurt that she thought that. "You know I didn't!"

"I don't care. It's my turn. I told you what I wanted: _to be friends. _If you can't handle it, then piss off!"

Gaping after her like a fish out of water, Harry followed her into the Burrow and whispered loudly into the empty kitchen, "You can't just mess me around! _You_ kissed _me_!"

"Because _you_ wouldn't shut up!"

He tossed his hands in the air. "Oh, that's a good reason!"

"Well, it's going to have to be, because I won't be doing it again in the near future!"

"Why not?" he challenged, though he knew he should just let it drop, let her win. Angry tears were already sparkling in her eyes, and it hurt that he put them there.

"My brother is _dead_!" she shrieked so loudly he knew the whole house must've heard. "It's wrong! I should be mourning him, not spread out before you like some- some whore!"

Their row had gone too far. "Ginny, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"

She cut him off, her mouth twisting unpleasantly. "You know what, Harry? Why don't you go back into you bloody tent and snog Ron and Hermione." Tears trickled down her red cheeks. "I'm sure you all got into that while you were away."

Her words sliced through him, and he did not follow her when she took off up the stairs. Instead, he turned around and walked out of the Burrow and into the night.


	7. Chapter 7: The Light at the End of a Ver

**Title**: These Arms

**Words**: 5,085

**Rating**: PG-13

**Genres**: Romance, Drama, Action/Adventure, Humor

**Characters**: Harry/Ginny, All

**Summary**: Ginny's path to Harry was clear. It's too bad that bravery, of all things, got in the way.

**Author's Note**: Sorry for the wait! I fear another is ahead of you all, though. I'll try and get the next chapter out by the end of the month, but don't hold your breath. Please, review with constructive criticism! This was a rather hard chapter to write. Enjoy!

**Chapter 7**: The Light at the End of a Very Long Tunnel

_~Ginny. May 5__th__, 1998._

"We heard what you said last night."

Ginny started and looked up from tying her shoes, the dirty laces slipping from her fingertips. Ron was standing at the threshold of her bedroom, completely in black, arms crossed in front of him. His countenance was drawn in irritation.

"So what?" she said carelessly, sitting back on her bed and momentarily giving up on tying her trainers.

Dressed in what she'd worn yesterday except for her black robes, she stared at them now, ironed and laying innocently beside her. Her mind wandered to last night, when Harry had nearly torn her out of them…

_If only he had, _she thought, warmth spreading across her abdomen. _I can't believe I kissed him…_

_Stupid girl, _a sinister voice hissed through her head. She winced. Perhaps snogging Harry senseless before dismissing him hadn't been such a good idea.

"Ginny!"

Ron had been speaking to her, but she hadn't caught a word he'd said. He was looking at her strangely, and a bubble of irritation crept into her voice. "_What_, Ron?"

"I was saying that maybe you should apologize to Hermione."

She groaned. Apologizing was accepting defeat; it was being wrong and owning up to it.

She _hated _being wrong.

But the words of spite she'd thrown at Harry weren't for Hermione's ears. She'd used them to get to him, not to her… even though the words also triggered a hint of jealousy for her bushy haired friend. Harry had ultimately chosen Hermione for his secret bloody mission, not underage, underestimated Ginny Weasley.

She forced away the bitterness and said, "Where is she, then? She didn't sleep in here last night."

"That's because she was up in my room."

Her eyebrows rose of their own accord. "Does Mum know?"

"Do I look dead?" he said and cringed immediately afterwards.

Bile rose in her throat at the thought of another brother dead. With a grimace she pointed out, "That just goes to show how awful your jokes are."

"Bint."

"Prat."

"Wanker."

"Oh, right, because I have the _equipment_ for it." She rolled her eyes, then peered at Ron from beneath her lashes. "Before I go, do you think maybe you could…?" She wiggled her right foot, the one with the untied trainer.

Ron smirked. "Can't tie your shoes, can you?"

"It's kind of difficult with _one working hand_," she said, glaring.

"I don't know… the last time I did this, you kicked me where you should _never_ kick a man—unless you're being attacked, of course."

"You deserved it."

Ron kneeled down carefully, tilting away from her to protect his bits. She laughed when he nearly fell over, and her cheeks strained. She couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed.

"I did not," he said. The bow he made was large and floppy, but it would have to do. "I've told you time and time again. I didn't take your bloody Martin Miggs doll. Fred did."

The silence that struck as soon as the words left Ron's mouth was excruciating. She felt her eyes burn, and she looked away.

"Yeah, it probably was him, wasn't it?"

They did not mention Fred again, and after a while, they got up and started up the stairs to Ron's room. "So, when are you going to tell me?" She kept her voice calm and mildly curious on the subject change. She didn't want to ruin her chances in knowing...

"Tell you what?"

"What you, Harry and Hermione were up to? What was the secret mission you lot were on?"

"Well, we weren't snogging Voldemort away, if that's what you're wondering."

Her patience was sorely tested. It was never a straight answer with Harry, Ron and Hermione. No one, not even the Minister of Magic, she suspected, knew what the three of them had gotten up to. It was the hottest topic in the Wizarding World at the moment. She couldn't believe what the papers had rumored…

"Oh," she breathed, stopping suddenly on the landing of Ron's room. "_Oh_."

That morning during a breakfast of cereal and toast (which she'd hardly touched), the _Daily Prophet _and _Witch Weekly _arrived, and both publications had done a half-page bio on Ron and Hermione, the latter suffering cruelly at the hands of the most infamous reporter, Rita Skeeter. She'd written that Hermione had run off with Harry, _carrying his child_, and though he'd denied the rumor, Skeeter noted that the child must've been "taken care of" while they'd been off perusing the Continent.

Hermione, who hadn't said a word to her at the conjured breakfast table, had flown up the stairs after reading the headline of her section in the _Prophet._

"This isn't just about me, is it?" Ginny said grimly.

"No," Ron said quietly. "She was upset last night, of course, but then the papers came, and everything kind of just… snowballed."

"Right." Determinedly, she continued towards Ron's bedroom.

"Oh, and Ginny?" Ron called from the stairway. "Be nice, would you?"

She scoffed. "I'm _always_ nice."

Ron turned downstairs with a skeptical snort, and she walked to his bedroom door and knocked quietly. "Hermione," she said. "Hermione, it's me. Can I come in?" She was met with silence, and she jiggled the knob of Ron's door. It was locked. She blew an impatient breath and leaned against the wall. "Are you really going to be like this? I didn't mean what I said."

She waited, and after a couple of minutes, the door clicked open.

She pushed her way in and found Hermione sitting beside her discarded wand on Ron's rumbled bed, arms hugging her knees to her chest, eyes downcast. Ginny sighed. This was not going to be easy.

"I'm sorry," she said at once, sitting carefully on the edge of Harry's untouched bed. "I didn't mean for you to hear… and I didn't mean what I said."

"Are you sure?" Hermione asked hoarsely, like she'd been crying for an incredibly long time. "It _seemed_ like you meant it."

"I was angry," she explained. "All Harry wants to do is snog me- _I_ wouldn't even snog me, not now, not being absolutely bonkers." She stared out the window at the dreary day when Hermione looked up at her. She could not admit the following if she was looking into her eyes. "Harry mentioned you and Ron while we were rowing, did you know that? Like we should be like the two of you or something…"

She peered at Hermione; she closed her eyes as if pained, sighed and pressed her forehead to her knees. "Bugger," she said unexpectedly. "I'm sorry you two had an argument last night, but it isn't _all _Harry's fault."

"What do you mean?"

"Ron and I, well, we might've persuaded him to try and change your mind." The words tumbled out from Hermione's lips quickly, as if like ripping off a plaster, the faster it was done, the less it would hurt.

"What?" she said in alarm. She hadn't been expecting that. "Change my mind about being friends with him? Why?"

Hermione shrugged. "It was a stupid idea. People deal with death in different ways, I know that. But you have to understand, Ginny: Harry really missed you while we were away, and you were- you _are_- so upset about everything. Not that you don't have any right to be," she added hastily. "We just… thought it might cheer both of you up, and simultaneously take your mind off things."

Ginny frowned. There it was again: "take your mind off things." What did that _mean_? Her mind was always so full. And now that Fred and Tonks and Remus and Colin had gone, how could she remember them if she tried to take her mind "off things"?

"What should I do?" she asked desperately.

"Apologize to Harry, perhaps, and figure things out. Talk to him. He'll hear you out." She paused then said hesitantly, "I think you need to do what Fleur recommended, too."

Ginny struggled to breathe and her hands started to tremble at the thought. "I can't."

"We could get you a Muggle journal," Hermione suggested softly.

But she was already shaking her head. "I don't want another diary, and I don't want a journal, Muggle or not. I can't write my thoughts down, not like I used to."

The thought of being possessed gripped her, of waking up in an empty corridor, covered in blood and chicken feathers, and she felt like choking. After her first year of Hogwarts, she still had nightmares about Tom Riddle, still to this day could hear his voice in her head when she was particularly miserable.

"Maybe… maybe you can talk to someone, then," Hermione said, but Ginny shot the idea down almost instantly.

"No, absolutely not," she said, and hated how her voice sounded like her mother's.

Death had already surrounded her. She couldn't possible talk about it, too.

They stared at each other for a time, the issue unwillingly dropped on Hermione's end.

"I just need time," she said, looking down at her feet. "Do you think Harry will forgive me?"

"He loves you," Hermione said, and Ginny stomped down the hope that grew in her chest. _Does he really?_ "He'll come around."

"Where do you think he's gone off to?" she asked worriedly.

Ginny had no doubt that her entire family had heard her row with Harry the night before. When she'd arrived at the uncommonly quiet breakfast table that morning, and hadn't seen Harry there, she'd been far too uncomfortable to ask over his whereabouts, especially with Bill there as well, glaring daggers at her.

Hermione shrugged. "He could be at Hogwarts, or maybe Grimmauld. He'll be back in time for the funeral."

She nodded absentmindedly and looked over at the clock. It read one-thirteen. If her family hadn't lost one of its brightest members, they probably would've been clearing the table of lunch right about now. However, no one had much of an appetite today, not with Fred's funeral taking place in less than an hour.

"I guess I'll finish getting dressed," she said, standing up.

Hermione nodded. "I'll head down with you. My robes are in your—"

The door to Ron's room opened, effectively cutting Hermione off.

_Speak of the devil, _she thought weakly. It was Harry.

Feeling ill, Ginny resisted the urge to scramble out of the room like a silly schoolgirl. She drank in the sight of him; disheveled hair, soft eyes, mouth turned down in a frown. He was dressed in the same black robes as yesterday, tight across his shoulders, and she found him just as handsome, maybe even more so with that stubble sprinkled across his chin and cheeks, than yesterday.

Harry acknowledged her with a mere glance before saying to Hermione, "The papers. I'm so sorry, Hermione. I did everything I could."

"I know, Harry," she said, smiling sadly at him. She got up from Ron's bed and hugged him.

Frozen in place by their friendly display of affection, Ginny swallowed hard and looked away, ashamed when jealousy rose unbidden like a green-eyed monster in her chest. If Ron hadn't come in and asked pointedly if everything was okay, she would've stood there all day, looking a fool.

She left the room hurriedly. This was all her fault. She'd started it all by kissing him, even though she had told him she'd just wanted to be friends. He was just so irresistible, so bloody charming trying to make her happy. How could she not lean over and press her lips to his? How could she not respond, after a year away from him, like she had when he'd pressed her up against a tree in the orchard? But because she hadn't figured out what she'd wanted, everything was shot to hell.

Were a few days to figure out what she wanted from him too much to ask for?

_No, it isn't,_ she thought firmly. _I might owe Harry an apology, but he owes me one as well._

They were two very passionate people in a strange and cruel world, and Ginny was so lost in her thoughts that she did not hear Harry call to her.

On the way to the only church in the mostly Muggle village of Ottery St. Catchpole, the light drizzle that had accompanied most of the day turned into heavy rain, and Mum was crying into Dad's shoulder so hard in the back of the Ministry provided car that Ginny wanted to pitch herself out the window. She looked over at George in the seat across from her, his face sickeningly green, and knew he must've been thinking the same thing.

When they pulled up, the cobblestone path to the church was blocked by a hoard of reporters and photographers, soaked to the bone and restless behind a barrier of five Aurors. Harry threw himself out first and took most of the blows of the bursting flashbulbs while the Weasleys and Hermione exited swiftly. Ginny was the last one out of the car, and the roar of questions that washed over her made her ears ring with fury.

They weren't just for Harry.

"Mrs. Weasley! Mrs. Weasley! Are you happy to have killed Bellatrix Lestrange on your own? Will you be getting a reward for her head?"

"Please, a word! Just a word, Miss Granger! Are you involved with—?"

"Ron! Ron! Ron Weasley! Is it really you or your ghoul impersonator?"

"Miss Weasley!" Ginny was startled to find the thinnest woman on earth before her, teeth yellow and snapping. "Are you or are you not currently involved with Mr. Harry Potter?"

"What? _No_!" she said, trying to push her way past her. A bright light sparked at her, temporarily blinding her.

"But he _is_ a former flame?"

"Ginny, come on!"

Someone pulled on the sleeve of her robe just as an Auror noticed the reporter and photographer's escape from the crowd, and she stumbled forward blindly. She blinked up at Charlie when her vision returned and they'd made it to the relative safety of the church steps. "Thanks."

He smiled at her grimly and let her go. "Anytime, Fireball."

She scowled at his nickname for her and brushed her wet hair off her face. They walked through the bright sapphire doorway, and Harry came in behind her, running a hand through his wild and dripping hair and wiping his feet on the soggy mat by the heavy double doors of the full to bursting little church. She stood completely still as he looked her over, her cheeks heating up under his gaze.

"Alright?" he asked quietly, deeply.

His emerald eyes burned into her, and it was just the two of them. Nobody else was near, nobody else existed. He cared about her, still, after all this time, and the thought made her feel like she'd been struck with the most powerful Jelly-Legs Jinx.

Their short moment "alone" was interrupted by the clearing of a throat. The soft buzz of friends and family and distant relatives conversing grew louder in her ears, and she shook herself out of her reverie and said, "I'm alright."

Harry nodded and walked through the nave. She blew out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and looked up to find Charlie staring at her with a smirk on his face.

"Remember me?" he said, waving at her cheekily. She slapped at his hands. "I'm still here."

"I noticed," she said with false cheerfulness.

"Did you really?" His lips were still tilted in a smirk; Ginny wanted to slap it off his face. She wiped her feet and hurried to follow Harry, Charlie not a step behind. "Is it just me, or does Harry look at you like a Hungarian Horntail looks at its first mate?"

Wincing at how loud he was, she hissed, hoping he got the hint to be quieter, "Charlie, first of all, that's disgusting. Second, _no_. And third, is now really the time?"

He ignored her, saying aloud, "Did you know that Horntails only mate when it's raining?"

She threw her arms up in exasperation. "Why are you so bloody _barmy_?" They reached the pew behind their parents, and she waited for Charlie to slide in next to Harry. "I'm going to ignore you now, by the way," she said decidedly.

"You can't ignore me," he said. He reached out and tousled her hair before she could duck. She should've seen it coming; it was his signature move to annoy the hell out of her. "See?"

She was breathing fire. "_Charles_," she warned menacingly.

He pressed his lips together, holding back a laugh. He made a show of being chivalrous and extended his hand. "After you, _Ginevra._"

She stood stock still, glaring at him. It was just like Charlie to make this sort of scene. She could feel dozens of eyes on her, too, including Harry's, so before her second-oldest brother could make her look like a complete idiot, she slid into the aisle.

A balding wizard priest led them in prayer a few minutes later. She closed her eyes and played along, all the while wondering how Charlie could be so carefree. Fred had just _died_. Wasn't he worried about death, about where Fred's soul was? The universe was so vast. Where was he, if anywhere at all? Or was this it, this life? Was there just blackness after such a short time on Earth?

Her thoughts, like always, turned to Harry, whose warm arm pressed comfortably into hers.

_He died, didn't he? He can tell you what comes after this. _Luna's voice rang clear through her head.

She peeked up at him. Maybe she should talk to someone about Fred, about death. Perhaps that someone should be Harry. And when he reassured her, like he most certainly would, that everything would be alright, that there was more to come, she would believe him- Harry never lied- and then she would be free of these torturous thoughts.

Then again, while peace of mind sounded lovely, she couldn't just _talk_ to Harry about these things. With the world on his shoulders, even after defeating Tom Riddle, she couldn't let him carry the guilt of her torment. It wasn't fair to him.

There was a hand on her shoulder, shaking her out of her reverie. "Ginny," Charlie said, peering at her in concern. "Come on, it's time."

Dad, Bill, George, and Ron held onto the four corners of Fred's casket. Percy, untangling himself from Mum, and Charlie, hurried to take the remaining spots on the sides.

She went to her mother and together they followed the casket through the nave and out the front door. The Aurors had contained the crowd of reporters and photographers, now double in size, far enough away so that everyone could make it without hassle to the graveyard just beside the church. She hadn't realized it was still raining until a large black umbrella floated over her and her mother.

"I guess that would've been good to do before we came out," Mum said, wiping in vain at her wet cheeks. She grabbed at the handle and explained unnecessarily, "Better to grab it, though, in case of any Muggles."

Ginny glanced quickly over her shoulder. Harry and Hermione were right behind them, both tucking their wands into their robes. "Thank you," she said to them both.

"You're welcome," Hermione said, reaching up to grab her own umbrella.

Green eyes then met brown, and she turned forward hastily and focused, faintly, on her footsteps. One foot in front of the other, one step, two steps, three steps, four steps…

The counting helped, but she lost track after number seventy-seven. She wanted to go back and start over, but she kept up with her mother, and before she was ready, they reached a large green tent with rows upon rows of slightly damp white chairs. Her heart contracted painfully when she gazed into the deep hole her brother's casket now floated over.

George shakily got up and started sobbing through the eulogy he'd written. He barely got the words out, and she took in the pain he felt, and hers doubled, _tripled_, and she started to cry. Then, she was handed a white carnation. The casket was lowered, and trembling violently, she threw it in. It landed with a dull _thud_, and she gasped, bile burning her throat.

_Goodbye, Fred._

She wasn't ready to think it, much less say it. And when her father, tears coursing down his face, sprinkled clumps of dirt with a small spade over Fred's casket, over _Fred_, a sharp wail slipped through her treacherous lips.

_This can't be the end. This can't be the end._

Eyes swimming with tears, she did not know whose arms wound around her stomach until she squeezed them shut and opened them again. Luna was kneeling before her, getting grass stains all over her robes, her head of straw colored hair against Ginny's chest. Ginny curled into her friend and rested her own head against her shoulder.

She cried silently for a very long time, until she felt empty, until she was sure she hadn't the strength for another tear. She straightened up slowly and noticed first that there was no longer a hole where Fred now rested, but a mound of dirt much like a large anthill, and at least half of the people who'd come to her brother's funeral where gone.

"It's been half an hour now," Luna said in a carrying whisper. "I know you can't go, but Colin's is today, as well."

"Go on," Ginny said, making sure not to meet Luna's large and probing stare. "Give his family my condolences."

"I don't want you to be alone."

"Don't be silly, I won't be. I have my family."

Luna nodded reluctantly, softly pressed a kiss to Ginny's temple, and left with Dean, promising to meet her later at the Burrow.

A sudden gust of wind blew, knocking over a nearby bright red standing spray. She stood up to fix it on trembling legs, but Percy beat her to it with a wave of his wand.

"Ginny," he said, smiling tightly at her. His face was blotchy and red. "I haven't truly gotten to converse with you. How's your arm?"

His cold formality irritated her. "Better," she grumbled in response, looking down at her sling. "I'll get to take this off tomorrow, as long as I drink the rest of my Skele-Gro tonight."

He nodded absentmindedly at her and a discomfited silence grew between them. When her father announced that the Ministry cars had arrived to take them all back to the Burrow for the luncheon, she was more than relieved, and she escaped her pompous brother's company without another word.

She followed the course she'd taken to get to the cemetery, her trainers thickly caked in mud by the time she reached the cobblestone path back to the Ministry vehicles. She had not waited for her family. She wanted to be alone. She wanted to breathe, to _just_ _be_, without the sound of her mother sobbing in her ear.

The silence of her short walk did not last long. Shouting drew into her subconscious, rattling her brain. She looked up from her feet; she'd forgotten about the press. Despairingly, she wondered what was so interesting. Harry and her mother had killed two very evil people. So, what? No one cared about them, anyways. Good people had died in this war, too. Couldn't they leave their families in peace?

Lightning lit the sky, and the rain she'd been walking under turned into a downpour. She pushed her anger for the press aside and plunged through the small gap between the Aurors. The yelling grew louder and louder. She could not make out but a few words.

"Does your Mum get—?"

"Do you know if—?"

"—thousands of galleons—"

There was a sudden roar.

"Harry! Harry Potter! A word, sir, please—"

"—why Auror Academy and not Quidditch—"

"Over here! Over here, Mr. Potter!"

She turned sharply. Harry was just behind her, pushing his way towards her with an umbrella floating over his head. He caught up to her a second later.

"Bloody vultures," he said gruffly, winding his arm around her sodden shoulders, the other reaching up to grab at the wooden handle of the umbrella. She hadn't realized how cold she was until she felt Harry's warm side pressed against hers. "Let's get out of this mess."

The staccato _plunk_, _plunk_, _plunk_ of rain hitting the nylon canopy above her overruled the boisterous horde of reporters and photographers, but it did accompany her heavy breathing. She could not help becoming breathless with Harry so close to her.

"Are you okay… considering?" Harry asked her once they reached the Ministry car.

She nodded mutely as he went to open the door, and she took a step back to make room. In the process, her heel caught on the curb, and she twisted her ankle hard to keep herself from falling, to no avail. Pain shot up her leg, and she gasped, gravity forcing itself upon her.

If it wasn't for Harry catching her around the waist, she would've been flat on her back.

"Ginny? Ginny, are you hurt?"

He held her in a ridiculous looking dip, as if they'd been practicing some sort of tango, his eyes worriedly searching her face. She grimaced. How romantic this would be, if not for the circumstance; for the death of her brother, the press frantically snapping pictures of them, the rainfall, the throbbing in her foot.

"My luck's run out. It's my damn ankle, _again_," she wheezed, squeezing her eyes shut in pain, her right hand clutching at his shoulder.

"I've got you," he said, carefully pulling her upright. "Can you get in to the car?"

She let go of him cautiously and shuffled with difficulty into the car, taking care not to put any weight down on her injured foot. Harry let go of the umbrella and climbed in after her. He took out his wand and flicked it towards the door. The umbrella folded itself, floated in, and landed by her feet. The door shut after it.

She jumped when she felt Harry's hand on her knee. "Which one is it?" he implored gently.

"The-the left one, thankfully," she said.

"'Thankfully'?" One of his hands curled under the back of her left knee, the other pulled up at her robes.

She gulped when his fingertips grazed her leg, torturously slowly; she would've moaned in any other situation. He draped the fabric over her knees, which she pressed tightly together. "Yes. The right one's been broken twice."

Harry nodded, not looking up from her leg. He took it carefully with both hands, and she let out a puff of air through frustrated lips. "That's right. The Department of Mysteries, and again when… when you fell after the Battle of Hogwarts?"

"Yes," she hissed, letting her head drop back against the window. He'd jerked her leg up hard.

"Sorry," he said earnestly. "Maybe if you turn a bit towards me…?"

Ginny bit her lip and did, curling her right leg beneath her. Harry pulled her other leg into his lap and started undoing her trainer quickly and cautiously. She pulled subconsciously at her robe and tucked the fabric that pooled over her knees between her thighs.

The corner of Harry's mouth twitched. He was smirking. "What?" she demanded as he tugged off her shoe.

He nodded pointedly between her legs but did not look up at her, and heat rose up her neck to settle in her cheeks. "Nothing, I just don't remember you being so modest a year ago."

She glared at him. "Don't be a prick."

"I'm _not_. I'm just making an observation, that's all."

She watched him carefully slip her sock off her foot, still annoyed. At least changing the subject was easy. "Well, what's wrong with it? Probably just sprained, right?"

"I have no idea," he said, finally meeting her eyes. There was a smile on his face. She wanted to hex it off.

"Why are you doing this, then?" she asked angrily, pulling her leg away from him. "Why are we even talking? Aren't we mad at each other?"

"I'm not angry with you, and you can't stay angry at me," he said. She hated how right he was. "Besides," he continued seriously, "I followed you because I wanted to apologize."

"Take your apology and shove it up your arse," she grumbled.

"Shut up, Ginny."

"_Excuse_ me?"

"You heard me. Shut _up_. Let me apologize." She was too shocked respond. He took a deep breath in her moment of stunned silence and said, "Last night was like coming home. When I'm with you, everything is… right.

"I shouldn't've pushed you last night. You wanted space, and I took advantage of you, and in such a _state_—"

"Harry—"

"Let me finish," he begged. Her mouth once again snapped closed. "Whether you like it or not, I took advantage of you. You might've kissed me first, but I didn't stop it, did I?"

"This isn't all your fault," she cut in desperately. "I shouldn't have kissed you. I'm not right, not now. I should've talked to you, told you clearly what I wanted."

"Tell me now," he whispered so quietly she had to lean forward to hear him.

She watched him staring down at his hands and felt her world, already in shambles, collapse a little further. "I need a little time. I wouldn't feel right if we were snogging our brains out with everything that's been going on." She exhaled slowly and handed him her heart. "I want to be friends, just for now. And when the time is right, I want to be with you again, all of you. Will you take me back?"

Harry's eyes were bright, and she smiled, already knowing the answer. "_Yes_," he sighed in relief.

He cared for her, and she cared for him, and suddenly he was there, the light at the end of a very long tunnel. She would reach for him when she was ready. "Do you think that maybe, when you do, - take me back, that is- you can tell me all about your tent escapades?"

He threw his head back and laughed, accepting her unconventional apology for all it was worth. "Yes, of course. I promise."


	8. Chapter 8: The Course of True Love

**Title**: These Arms

**Words**: 3,865

**Rating**: PG-13

**Genres**: Romance, Drama, Action/Adventure, Humor

**Characters**: Harry/Ginny, All

**Summary**: Ginny's path to Harry was clear. It's too bad that bravery, of all things, got in the way.

**Author's Note**: I did a terrible thing, you guys. I started another H/G story, completely AU but wonderfully magical. I'll post the prologue in a couple of months, once I have more chapters written. TA is still my number one priority, but I can't help those cute little plot bunnies hopping around in my brain!

This chapter, just so you know, will probably piss some of you off. I'm sorry, but this is how I always planned for it to go. What's life without a few bumps in the road? Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. Enjoy!

**Chapter 8**: The Course of True Love

"The course of true love never did run smooth." –William Shakespeare

_~Harry. May 5__th__, 1998._

The repast that took place after Fred's funeral was drawing to a close. Friends and family of the Weasleys took off from the Burrow in droves, waving goodbye through the heavy rain before Apparating outside the wards still surrounding the house.

Harry watched the scene from the shadowy corner right beside the kitchen door Ginny and Luna had just disappeared through. He wanted to follow Ginny, like he'd been doing for most of the day, admittedly, but thought better of it. They'd talked enough. The decision was made, and it was crystal clear to him now: when Ginny was ready, she'd come to him. She held all the power, and for some inexplicable reason, he was completely okay with that. In the meantime, he was determined to focus on becoming the best Auror he could be and try to keep his mind off of her.

Of course, such matters were easier said than done.

_This is going to be hell, _he concluded silently, staring wistfully at the door next to him. _Why is this so bloody difficult?_

Before he could answer his own thought, Kingsley Shacklebolt approached him with a strange expression upon his face and a perspiring bottle of butterbeer in his hand.

"Harry," he said in greeting.

"Minister," Harry responded, then winced at the man's chastising frown deepened. "Sorry, sorry. I keep forgetting. _Kingsley_."

Kingsley nodded curtly in thanks and shot a subtle glance around the room. When he seemed sure no one was within earshot, he said quietly, "There's been some debate, Harry."

His brows furrowed on their own accord. "About…?"

"Well, you and your competence, to put it bluntly." Harry winced. At least the Minister of Magic had the decency to look somewhat rueful. "While I don't think you're useless at all," he said, "several of your soon-to-be colleagues think that you should have received formal training before obtaining your Auror badge and robes."

"But I thought that's what the public wanted," Harry countered, face flushing in anger. "I wanted to go through formal training first, you _know _that."

"I do know, but that's not all, Harry."

"Go on," he muttered bitterly through a groan.

"There was a vote on whether or not you should be participating in any upcoming field assignments." He paused to take a considerable drag of his drink before continuing. "The result was a complete fifty-fifty."

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Would he be partaking on a full-on mission soon?

"So, what does that mean?" he asked instead.

"It means that you haven't voted, and you'll basically get to choose whether or not you yourself will take part in the next assignment."

Anxiety crept up his spine, but Harry also felt incredibly smug. Half of his future coworkers believed he was worth something, and soon (very soon, he would come to learn), the other half would just have deal with it.

"I vote 'yes,'" Harry said, crossing his arms in front of him, smirk blooming across his face. "When do I leave?"

"Tomorrow morning, oh seven hundred hours."

Harry stared at Kingsley. "Tomorrow? You mean—?"

The Minister bent his head towards him. "Two Death Eaters have been sighted wandering the coast of Italy. We can bide our time, try to understand their intentions now that Voldemort is dead, or we can strike while the iron is hot, catch them unawares."

"Which will it be?" he said quickly, his body pumping adrenalin, filling him with nervous energy. He saw Ron and Hermione near the front door, staring curiously his way over Kingsley's shoulder. Harry realized with a pang that they would, after such a tremendous journey together, be separated for the first time in years.

"It's in Robards' hands. Whatever he decides upon, I'll ultimately back up. He's the department head, the best in all of Europe since Moody, I reckon." Harry swallowed hard at the mention of the man who'd given his life to protect him; how he hated that he was one of many. "Either way, a team of Aurors is heading out in the morning. The question now is, are you in?"

Several issues arose and flashed though his mind in less than a second flat. Was he really ready for this, or did he just want to prove himself to his opposers? Was he doing this to show the world that he was a capable wizard and not just an incredibly lucky one? Was his head _and _heart really into this? What about his friends? What about Ginny?

"I would understand completely if you wanted to stay in England, Harry," Kingsley said, though his eyes held worry and his forehead crinkled in undisguised disappointment.

"No," Harry said. "No, my mind has been made up for a long time." His friends would be okay without him, and he could not let the Wizarding World down. He could not let _Ginny _down. Having a future with her would only be possible if he rid them all of Voldemort's vermin. "I'll go. The chance to take down Death Eaters, after all the lives they've cut short…"

Kingsley sighed in relief. "Hope will most certainly be restored if the press catches wind of this—which they _won't_," he added when Harry shot him a look. "I will personally alert Robards of your decision." From his robe pocket, he withdrew an envelope. "This should answer any questions you have."

Harry took the heavy parchment envelope with slight surprise. "Did you know I would say 'yes'?"

Kingsley shrugged and grinned. "I expected it. Now," he started more seriously, "you can't tell a soul about where you're off to. Not even Ron and Hermione."

"But I can't just _leave _without a word," he protested.

"I'd never ask that of you, Harry. However, the Italian coast needs to be kept top secret, for everyone's safety. Agreed?"

They shook hands, and the Minister took his leave, saying a hurried goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley at the front door. Not a second after he left, Ron and Hermione approached him anxiously.

"What was that all about?"

"What's in the envelope?"

They spoke at the same time. Harry hoped his smile was not uneasy.

"I'm leaving tomorrow, with a team of Aurors. This, apparently," he waved the envelope, "will tell me whatever I need to know."

"They're sending you out already?" Hermione said incredulously.

He nodded stiffly.

"Well, where are you heading to?" Ron asked, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably. He cracked his knuckles one by one, a nervous habit he'd taken up only recently.

"I can't say, but it's out of the country."

"Oh, Harry, are you sure…?"

He nodded again and swallowed roughly. "Yeah, I didn't have to, but it's the right thing to do, isn't it?"

They stared at him silently. Ron broke the pregnant pause. "Yeah, I reckon so." He threw a look at Hermione and asked hesitantly, "What about Ginny?"

Harry's jaw worked up and down, and just when he came up with an appropriate response, an unruly scream ripped though the soft din within the room. With his heart lodged in his throat, he bolted into the kitchen and looked around, wand held out before him.

It was empty.

"Where is she?" he said aloud frantically. "Where's Ginny?"

"Maybe upstairs?" Hermione said optimistically from behind Ron's shoulder. A crowd was forming behind her.

Hope flared inside his chest, but it was quickly doused with pure dread. His eye had caught something flame like framed in the open window before the kitchen sink.

"No," he breathed, gut twisting in agony.

"Harry, what—?"

It was only a split second, in which time stood still and his feet felt too heavy to lift, before he skidded around the kitchen table still laden with casseroles and pies and puddings, yanked the backdoor off its hinges in his haste to get outside and ran full out to the prone figure in the garden.

He fell to his knees beside her and took her face in his hands. Her cheeks were cold and wet from the rain that fell heavily from the sky, her hair covered thickly in mud.

Why hadn't he followed her when he'd had the chance?

"Ginny? Ginny, wake up!" His hands went to her shoulders, and he shook her roughly, fingers digging into her flesh. "Ginny, please, _please_ wake up."

"She just collapsed." Harry looked up and found Luna across from him, staring at him with large, frightened eyes. Had she been there the whole time? "She was feeling faint. She- she said she wanted fresh air, and then…"

He was helpless, twelve years old again, Ginny eleven, small and sickly looking in the inky green glow of the Chamber of Secrets.

_No, no, no, _he thought frantically, shaking his head to vanish the image so vivid in his mind.

Hermione was at his side. "We need to bring her in, Harry," she said. Her fingers were drawing away from her pulse point, and he wondered why he didn't think of checking if...

_Why would I? She's going to be okay, everything is going to be okay._

Long freckled and scarred arms wrapped around Ginny's waist. Harry couldn't bear to look up at Ron, lest he saw the pain most certainly etched upon his face. Instead, he got up and helped him, drawing Ginny's arm around his shoulders. She moaned feebly, head lolling into the crook of his neck.

"Hang on, Ginny," he said softly.

They brought her quickly up to the back porch, now packed with curious friends and family to the Weasleys. Just as they set Ginny down onto a hastily conjured bench, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley pushed their way forward. Mr. Weasley groaned at the sight of his only daughter in such as state, and Mrs. Weasley's eyes rolled into the back of her head. Bill and Charlie were thankfully just behind their mother to catch her fall.

"Molly!" Mr. Weasley cried in alarm.

"Is-is anyone a Healer around her?" Harry croaked desperately.

"I am." A short woman with dark hair emerged from the depths of the crowd. Harry immediately recognized her as Hestia Jones, whom he met on two occasions and liked considerably. She sucked in a breath at the sight of Ginny and started to bark out orders. "Mr. Potter, I'll need you to give me some room there. Thank you, thank you. You two," she said over her shoulder to Bill and Charlie, "get Molly onto her back. Yes, that's it, mind her head. Now, you're going to elevate her legs just so…"

With Mrs. Weasley already coming to, Hestia turned and focused her attention on Ginny. Harry stood back as she bathed her in yellow, blue and lime green wand light. It wasn't until the fifth spell she muttered that Ginny's eyes finally fluttered opened.

Harry moaned in relief. His whole body, coiled so tightly with tension just moments ago, went limp, and he grabbed at the porch banister to steady himself. He did not, however, let himself believe it was all over.

"Will she be okay?" he asked Hestia, his eyes never straying from Ginny. While her eyes were open, they stared unfocused upon the dimly lit porch light.

"In due time, Mr. Potter," she said. "She's suffering from exhaustion and a very mild bout of dehydration and hypoglycemia—"

"Hypo-what?" Ron interrupted.

"Her blood sugar's low," Hermione answered absentmindedly. "Come to think of it, I don't believe I saw Ginny eat anything today."

Hestia nodded grimly. "That most definitely caused the loss of consciousness." She turned to Harry and reassured him, "She'll be fine. It's nothing a little sleep, food and water won't cure."

"Thank god," Luna breathed from beside him.

Harry gripped the railing tighter, trying to stop the trembling in his hands. "Thank god," he repeated.

"I'll brew an Invigoration Draught for her," Hestia continued, "and a Draught of Peace for Molly."

Ginny and Mrs. Weasley were both forced Dreamless Sleep Potion and levitated to their proper rooms, and those who had yet to leave after the luncheon finally took off when the dreadful excitement was over. Harry found himself drowning a shot of firewhisky in the scullery off the kitchen. He hissed as it burned down his throat and held his glass out to Ron, who stood before him in the semi-darkness.

"You might want to take it a bit easier there, mate," he said, but poured him another shot anyways.

"Last one," Harry promised.

He knocked it back, feeling warm and exceptionally dumb. He'd just agreed to go on a mission with the Auror Academy, completely untrained and nowhere near ready. He should stay here, holed up in the Burrow, take care of the family that had done so much for him…

_Why is this so bloody difficult?_ he asked himself for the second time today, grabbing the bottle from Ron when he refused to empty the remaining bit in his glass.

The answer was obvious: Harry was completely and utterly in love with Ginny Weasley, and he did not want her out of his sight.

_~Ginny. May 6__th__, 1998_

The storm had finally passed, Ginny noticed first thing the next morning. The sky was the most beautiful cerulean and not a wisp of a cloud hindered it. But something was wrong, she decided as she stared blankly out the only window in her room. She felt so… empty.

For a little while, she tried to blame the niggling feeling on her fainting spell. Did she knock her head on a rock when she hit the ground? She moved her fingers gingerly over her head and through extremely knotted hair, but found no sore spots. Merlin, how she must've embarrassed her entire family by now, what with all the falling and swooning she'd been doing as of late. Her cheeks burned in mortification thinking back to yesterday's incident- it was one thing to fall through a staircase; it was another to faint because she had forgotten to _eat_.

Her father had woken her up earlier that morning, dark circles under his eyes, wrinkles deeper than she'd ever seen before. He sat on the edge of her bed, smoothed the hair from her forehead, and told her to _please _take better care of herself. He made sure she drank several potions he'd brought in with him before letting her get back to sleep.

What was it that had caused her to wake up so troubled, then? Perhaps she felt strange because Fred was freshly buried? He was gone, forever, and she'd never see him again. Her intestines tightened, felt like they were braided and burned just thinking it, but no, this was something else.

She sat up carefully and stretched out her arms and legs, then swiftly cracked her neck and sighed at the release of pressure. When her stomach rumbled a moment later, she came to the conclusion that the emptiness she was feeling was from hunger.

_Yes, that has to be it, _she convinced herself, nodding to nothing in particular.

Swinging her legs off the bed, Ginny slowly stood up and took immediate notice that Hermione's camp bed was made. With a gasp of alarm, she realized that Ron and Hermione were leaving for Australia today. She threw a hasty glance at her alarm clock and shot out of the room. They were due to leave any minute now.

Thankfully, she found them in the kitchen. Ron was pacing in front of the fireplace, and Hermione was tapping her foot anxiously by the back door, staring at the staircase. The moment Ginny descended, Hermione's furrowed brows smoothed in relief.

"Oh, good, we didn't want to leave without saying goodbye."

She was in Hermione's arms a second later, her face smothered in bushy brown hair. The stinging behind her eyelids was so great that she could not contain her tears, but with a warm yet quick embrace from Ron, her emotions settled, and she wiped at her cheeks with a shaky laugh.

"Sorry," she sniffed. "I'm just really going to miss you two."

"We'll be back soon," Ron said. "I promise."

Ginny's mind flashed to the previous day, when she'd asked Harry to share his journey with her. _Yes, of course,_ he'd said. _I promise_.

She looked around the room and noticed for the first time that Charlie was there, watching their exchange with a fond smile on his face. But other than the four of them, the kitchen was empty. _Too_ empty. And suddenly, she knew why she'd felt the way she had when she'd woken up.

"Where's Harry?" she asked as casually as she could, but she would not fool them, not when her voice was underlined with slight hysteria. The quick look Ron and Hermione exchanged made her heart hammer and palms sweat. She wiped them on her dressing gown anxiously. "Isn't he going to see the two of you off?"

"We saw him early this morning," Hermione said carefully, turning to her with an apologetic frown. "We said goodbye then."

The silence that followed made her skin crawl. "Yes, but _where did he go_?"

A steady stream of honks assaulted them, and Ginny and Hermione both jumped at the unexpected blare.

"That's our car," Ron said.

"Oh. Oh, yes, alright," Ginny said, giving herself a mental shake.

_Harry's gone, Harry's gone, Harry's gone, _was all she could think as she followed her brother and best friend out into the garden, feet bare and hands balled at her sides. They hugged once more, and it wasn't until Charlie threw a heavy arm over her shoulders, and she waved the black Ministry car away that she realized she was, once again, all alone.

"I'll bet you anything they come back home either engaged, pregnant, or both," Charlie said, trying in vain to lighten the mood.

Ginny cracked the smallest smile to appease him. "Yeah, maybe."

Back in the kitchen, Charlie fixed her a plate of leftover bangers and fried greens and potatoes. She sat at the table, her brother across from her, and proceeded to scrape the entire dish clean.

She cried silently throughout the entire meal.

Charlie grimaced when she hiccupped violently into her water glass. "Ginny, don't do this."

"I'm not doing a-anything! I _n-never _do anything!" she gasped through her tears, upending her drink and spilling it in her lap. "_Bloody buggering_—!"

Her cursing was drowned out by Charlie's quick drying charm. He stood up, took her empty plate, and replaced it with a parchment envelope emblazoned with her name.

He'd done it so quickly that she had to do a double take. She did not speak. She did not move. The untidy scrawl on the letter was familiar, warmed a place deep in her abdomen, and terrified her at the same time. She stared at it for several long minutes.

"He didn't want to wake you," Charlie said after a while, his back to her at the sink as he started washing up. "I can't blame the bloke, though. Yesterday was a right nightmare if you ask me."

She stood up unsteadily and allowed for her fingertips to skim the parchment just once before backing away. Charlie looked at her over his shoulder, elbows deep in soapy water.

"Aren't you going to read it?"

She shook her head, which was slowly but surely starting to ache. She did not want to know, not now. An onslaught of bludgers to the face would feel better than how she felt presently.

"I think I've just made the biggest mistake in my entire life," Ginny whispered. Her eyes met Charlie's, so very much like hers, brown and deep and open. "I sent him away."

Charlie shut off the water and turned to her fully, bright red dish towel in hand. With an eyebrow raised, he said, "I didn't peg you as the melodramatic type, Ginny."

"I'm not. I told him I needed space… and he left me."

Frustration laced his voice, "I don't think that's what—"

"I'm going to bed."

"But you just got up," he protested.

"I don't want to be awake anymore."

"Ginny—"

"Leave me alone, Charlie."

She started towards the stairs, but stopped when Charlie said with a sigh of irritation, "At least take the bloody letter with you. I don't want to be responsible for it if it gets lost."

With Harry's letter burning a hole in the pocket of her dressing gown, Ginny climbed the stairs, passed the landing of her room, and found herself staring at her parents' bedroom door. She knocked gently upon it.

"Mum?" she called. "Are you up?"

"Come in, Ginny."

The thick ivory curtains she'd always remembered being pulled back to let sunlight stream into the large room were drawn closed, and it took Ginny a moment to adjust to the soft darkness. When she did, she found her mother laying in bed, propped up by half a dozen pillows, and smiling affectionately at her over her floating knitting needles.

"How are you feeling today?" her mother asked, beckoning her only daughter to her.

Ginny crawled in on her father's side of the bed, like she'd done on far too many occasions to count, and curled into her mother's open arms.

Ignoring her mother's question and the hand testing the temperature of her forehead, Ginny said instead, "Harry's left again."

"That boy never did know when to stop," Mum said fondly.

"My thoughts exactly," Ginny said. "This time, though, I think I drove him off."

Her mother looked at her, perplexed and completely unconvinced. "Why would you say something like that?"

"Because, I told him I needed space." Ginny bit her lip, wondering how much to convey to her mother. She'd never really talked to her about boys before. But times had changed. Her mother loved her, she knew it without a doubt, and even if she was overbearing, obsessive, and near mad at times, Ginny would give her life for her mother, too. "And now that he's gone, _again_, I can't see myself without him."

Mum smiled softly. "You love him."

She looked her mother in the eye and said awkwardly, but truthfully, "I've always loved him."

Mum ran her fingers gently through Ginny's hair. She closed her eyes at her comforting touch, ears perking up when her mother sighed and said with as much confidence as she could muster, "Everything will work out in the end. It always does."

Ginny wondered how she could be so optimistic at a time like this.

"How d'you know that?" she demanded, harsher than she'd meant to, willing herself not to cry. "How can you be so sure?"

"Faith, Ginny."

She stared up at the soft blue hangings of the four poster bed for a long time, then coiled around her father's overly squishy pillow, the gentle scent of his red cedarwood aftershave calming her and clearing her head enough to realize that, though she had yet to read his letter, Harry must be doing something awfully noble yet again to leave without a proper farewell.

She was lulled to sleep by her mother's knitting needles clicking away.


	9. Chapter 9: Alone Again

**Title**: These Arms

**Words**: 3,392

**Rating**: PG-13

**Genres**: Romance, Drama, Action/Adventure, Humor

**Characters**: Harry/Ginny, All

**Summary**: Ginny's path to Harry was clear. It's too bad that bravery, of all things, got in the way.

**Author's Note**: Sorry this has taken so long! I have no excuse other than school and writer's block. I don't know when the next chapter will be up, as I haven't even started writing it, so let me go ahead and thank you for your patience! Enjoy and please review!

**Chapter 9**: Alone Again

"If two past lovers remain friends, they are either still in love or they never were."- Unknown

_~Harry. May 5__th__, 1998_

Harry attended Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, and Ted Tonks' wakes with Ron, Hermione, Mr. Weasley, and Charlie in tow, slightly drunk on Firewhiskey, but altogether prudent enough not to speak directly to someone when spoken to, lest they get a whiff of his unpleasant, liquor-laced breath.

He could hardly sit still during the speeches and toasts celebrating their memories, and did not turn down a flute (or two) of champagne when it came floating his way, even with Hermione's disapproving glare settled on him.

_They shouldn't be dead_, he thought as he drowned a glass of bubbly. _They should be making _new_ memories._

He teetered dangerously towards Andromeda, Ron righting him the entire way over. With the service drawing to a close, he knew if he didn't strike now, he wouldn't get another chance for weeks, maybe even months.

"Mrs. Tonks," he said, staring down at his godson, sleeping in her arms. "I—can I hold him?"

He did not witness Ron subtly shaking his head at Andromeda.

"Ah- I think it would be wise not to disturb him now, Harry. He's just fallen asleep, see?"

"Right, right, right," Harry said, nodding roughly. He could hardly hold back his tears. _Poor Teddy_. "Right," he said again, looking up from the napping child and into the tired, red-rimmed eyes of the unluckiest woman he'd ever met. _Poor Andromeda_. "You need help, Mrs. Tonks."

"I bed your pardon?"

He sucked in a deep breath. "You need _help_, and I have a house elf that will go spare with nothing to do." He paused, waiting for the light of realization to flicker in her eyes. "Of course, you'll have to move into The Most Noble and Ancient House of Black." He snorted indelicately, but sobered slightly with Ron's noticeable grimace at his side. He cleared his throat and asked, "You've been there before, haven't you?"

She nodded mutely.

"I've spoken with Kreacher—the house elf—and he would be most happy to receive you after the funerals tomorrow."

Andromeda found her voice, and shaking her head, she said, "Harry, this is far too much. I couldn't possibly—"

"Yes, you could," he said firmly. She still looked unsure. He sighed and said, "Look, I'm afraid I can't make the funerals tomorrow, and I don't know when I'll be back."

Andromeda looked only slightly taken aback. "You're leaving? Already?"

It still amazed him that the entire Wizarding World knew he would not rest until every Death Eater was captured.

"I am," he said, "and I wouldn't feel right leaving you and Teddy without accepting Kreacher and his services." She looked ready to protest. "_Please_, Mrs. Tonks?"

Relief flooded his clouded brain when she finally gave in with a tearful nod. "All right, but it's on one condition?"

"Yes?" Harry said quizzically.

"You _have_ to come back."

He understood her on an entirely different level. She needed him, the godfather of her grandson, to be the father figure in Teddy's life.

"I will," he vowed.

He, Ron and Hermione left soon afterwards. They had a mission to accomplish in Muggle London: new clothes, without a doubt, had to be purchased for their oncoming trips.

Hermione took Harry and Ron by the hand and Side-Along Apparated them to an alley beside a store in Wandsworth by the name of Asda. While it was open twenty-four hours, they had no desire to linger. They split up, the boys to the menswear, and Hermione, blushing, to the intimates section.

Ron watched her go with slightly glazed over eyes. If Harry wasn't already nauseous from too much drink or their short Apparation trip, he would've been then, knowing exactly where his best mate's mind was straying to.

"Don't make me sick," Harry groaned, pulling Ron towards the denim trousers.

By the time they arrived back at the Burrow, purchases in hand, Charlie was sitting alone in the semi-dark kitchen, having leftovers from the luncheon for dinner.

"Where is everyone?" Ron asked, flicking his wand to heighten the flames in the fireplace, then at the oil lamps to bring them to life. Harry would've contributed in lighting the room if only his reflexes hadn't been so slow.

They set their bags down, and Hermione started to heat up bangers and fried potatoes at the stove.

Harry staggered into a chair. He ignored the concerned glance Hermione threw at him over her shoulder and hoped Ron's brother would mention Ginny without him having to ask about her; it would make things so much more difficult for him to leave tomorrow, especially if he found out she was much more ill than he'd thought.

Fortunately, Charlie updated them on everyone's whereabouts. "Dad's gone to bed. Mum and Ginny won't be up until sometime tomorrow. Bill and Fleur went home, and Percy's with George."

It was not enough information for Harry, however. When they'd taken off to attend the triple wake after Fred's repast, Hestia Jones was still up in Ginny's bedroom. It had taken every ounce of willpower for him to leave the Burrow without knowing of Ginny's physical condition.

"Will Ginny be okay?" Harry asked. "Do you know when she'll be awake next?"

Charlie smile was not reassuring. "Hestia's left quite a few potions for Ginny. She should be all right after she takes them in the morning. As to when she'll come around, I haven't the foggiest, Harry. Sorry."

Harry started when a plate was carefully placed before him. He hardly looked at Hermione when thanking her.

They ate in relative silence. Harry couldn't bear to finish half the food on his plate. The thought of leaving Ginny without saying a proper goodbye, _again_, was plaguing him so.

He excused himself, unable to wait for Ron and Hermione to finish- he could only stare at his uneaten food for so long without wanting to vomit. It was when he sat upon his camp bed that the day's events—truly the year's events—finally took over him.

He couldn't recall every sobbing so hard. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was his impending journey out of the country without his best friends as his ever steady support. Maybe it was because he'd gazed upon a beautiful infant boy that would never get to know his incredible parents. Maybe it was because he very truly didn't know if he could leave without telling Ginny that he loved her.

He was in pure agony, but slowly letting the last year—the last _seven_ years—roll off his shaking shoulders. He was expected to save the Wizarding World, and he'd done it.

He could only move forward from here.

_~May 6__th__, 1998_

Harry was due at the Ministry any minute now, but he could not find it within himself to go just yet.

He'd said goodbye to Ron and Hermione three times already, had stood in the fireplace with a handful of gritty Floo powder, his stomach in knots. The thought of leaving Ginny without so much as a word, however, begged him from hearth to pace the length of the kitchen.

"You'll give her the letter?" Harry asked for the umpteenth time.

Ron nodded dutifully. "Yes."

"And if she's not awake by the time you're set to leave?"

"Then I'll give it to her," Ron's brother Charlie said, his tone laced with amusement.

Harry did not find the situation funny at all.

"She'll understand, Harry," Hermione said, wringing her hands and throwing a fleeting glance at ticking clock on the mantle.

"Will she?" he said, seriously doubting her. "I left her once already—"

"That was different," Ron said firmly.

He paced for another minute, ignoring the look Ron and Hermione traded.

_This is a bloody disaster, _he thought wretchedly.

"Harry, you're going to be late," a tearful Hermione scolded. She drew him into a hug, and pushed him gently into the fireplace. "_Go_."

He struggled to compose himself. Worried his voice would warble and betray him, Harry nodded roughly, grabbed his things, and with one last wave goodbye to his friends, spun directly into Kingsley Shacklebolt's office.

The first words he heard as he tripped out of the grate, coughing on green flames, were, "Cutting it close, aren't we, Potter?"

Harry gritted his teeth. He was leaving Ginny for _this_?

"Robards," he acknowledged, biting back the inappropriate retort just at the tip of his tongue. He brushed the soot off his Auror robes and held his hand out, not to his new boss, but to the Minister of Magic standing just beside him. "Good to see you again, Minister." Harry would only allow himself to use Kingsley's forename in private.

"Harry," Kingsley said with a jovial smile, "you're just in time. We've got ten minutes before the Portkeys set off, and I want you to meet your partner and team."

The smallest house elf Harry had ever seen stepped out from behind Kingsley's leg and snapped its fingers. Harry's bags, along with the house elf, disappeared.

He followed Kingsley and Robards through a narrow hallway and into the conference room where he'd had the most trying of interviews. Scattered around in various groups, some sitting on long and scarred wooden benches, some standing and leaning along the far wall, were a dozen or so Aurors. The din he entered quickly subsided.

Harry stood there, looking over his colleagues, and did not smile. He reminded himself that half of these people thought he wasn't capable of being an Auror. Not for the first time, he wished he was just Harry, and not The Boy Who Lived Again. First impressions were very hard to come by.

No one save two witches and a wizard walked towards him. He tried not to size them up and quickly looked away from the more striking of the two women. She sent a chill down his spine, and he didn't want to gawk, but... it was like looking at the female version of Mad-Eye Moody. She had an eye patch over her left eye and a deep scar across the side of her mouth. She had to be in her thirties, her shaggy hair gray at her temples.

Robards handed out Portkeys and instructions to a couple of burly looking men before turning towards Harry. "This is your team, Potter, your new family. Gwerder. Vitali. Snell. Over the next couple of weeks, you will be pushed to your limit. These people will glue you back together."

Harry shook hands with Edith Gwerder first, his team leader and a high-ranking Auror that specialized in First Aid and Healing. Ironically, she was the most severely injured Auror in the room. He vaguely wondered if she'd given herself treatment or if someone else had as she gave him a kind yet sober smile.

"I still have it, my eye," she said when she caught him staring. Harry smiled at her apologetically. "Another day or two, and you'll see."

The other witch in his group went by the name of Verena Vitali. The two of them would be partners in their team of four. She shook his hand but did not meet his eyes. Harry tried not to be disappointed: it seemed that he was paired with an adversary.

The final member of the group, and Gwerder's partner, was Thomas Snell, a tall, reserved wizard just a few years older than Harry.

Just after the brief introductions, the Portkey in Robards hand started to glow. He shoved it quickly at Snell. Harry reached out hastily, along with Gwerder and Vitali, and a split second later, they were transported through space and time.

Ginny woke up with her head drumming, as it always did when she slept too long. She rolled to a sitting position and stretched, then turned to gaze through the semi-darkness at her mother's side of the bed. It was empty.

She stood up, untangling herself from her dressing gown and sweating from the heavy duvet Mum had most likely thrown across her sleeping form. She noticed at once that one pocket was far heavier than the other.

She sucked in a breath. _Harry's letter_.

She drew it out with shaking hands, then walked to the curtained window. She pulled the heavy fabric aside, blinking back the sting of sudden sunlight, and with eager, stumbling fingers, ripped the parchment open.

Why hadn't she done this sooner?

_Dear Ginny,_

_By the time you read this, I'll have left the country with the Aurors. I can't say much else, only know that I will think about you everyday until I return._

_I'm glad we got a chance to talk yesterday, however brief it was. Maybe, by the time I come back, I can finally tell you all about the "tent escapades." I promised, didn't I?_

_Always yours,_

_Harry_

She read the letter over and over again, gripping the parchment so hard that it curled beneath her fingers. She lost count of how many times she read it over, each time trying to decipher the short, to-the-point sentences. He'd never written her before, not even to pass a note to her in the busy and overcrowded corridors of Hogwarts when they'd dated for that small period of time, so she had nothing to compare it to. Was he withholding information purposely? Was she missing a hidden message between the lines? Or was this really all he had to say?

She deflated, distraught, pressing her forehead to the dusty windowpane, her breath fogging up its glass. The sun was still strong in the sky, but it did not warm her skin because her blood was already boiling in her very veins, she was so angry. Where he was going and what he was doing was completely omitted. Her frown turned into a furious scowl. Harry Potter might be the bravest soul she'd ever met, but he could be such a _prick_ sometimes.

As she gathered her dressing gown closer together with one hand, she crumpled Harry's letter with the other. They weren't together, but they were promised to each other. Most importantly, they were friends. Or so she'd thought.

_Friends don't just take off_, she huffed internally, throwing the door to her parents' bedroom open and stomping down the stairs.

_He left a note, though_, another part- the sensible part- of her argued.

She passed Fleur at the stove, where pots bubbled and burped away happily, as if nothing was amiss, Bill at the fireplace, refilling the new Floo powder jar on the mantel, and George sitting on the broken porch steps, staring aimlessly, perhaps unseeingly, out over the garden. She hardly spared them a glance.

Stopping just at the edge of the pond, Ginny looked down at the balled up parchment in her hand and without thinking twice, flung her arm back expertly and released.

It didn't soar far. It was nearly weightless. But her heart caught in her throat and there were tears on her cheeks as it landed just feet away, soaking up the pond water greedily, drifting further away with the gathering wind.

_ …I will think about you everyday until I return, _he'd written. _Always yours…_

"_Oh_," she breathed, pain stabbing her chest.

What a terrible mistake she'd made.

She launched herself into the pond and was waist deep in the murky water before reaching the waterlogged parchment. She took it carefully in her hands, unfolding the crinkled mass until it lay flat. The ink was only slightly smudged, but if she hung it to dry, perhaps siphoned the water away with her wand, it would be right as rain. A minute longer, though, and it would've been beyond repair.

As she struggled out of the pond, extremely relieved her first letter from Harry wasn't completely ruined, Ginny glanced up to find that she had an audience.

"Alright?" George asked quietly.

She tried not to stare at his ashen face and lackluster eyes, tried not to see Fred in him (rather unsuccessfully), and threw him a forced and awkward smile. "Yeah," she said as she hauled herself completely out of the water. His hand caught her under the arm to steady her. "Thanks."

He gestured to the parchment in her hands. "What's that?"

"A letter. From Harry."

"Ah."

They started towards the Burrow. Ginny could see two figures staring her way through the kitchen window, undoubtedly Bill and Fleur wondering if she needed a trip to the Mind Healers. She sighed, hoping they wouldn't pry. She wasn't on good terms with them at the moment, anyways, and she only took so much pleasure from rowing with her family.

She glanced up at George. If it had been any other day, perhaps a day where death wasn't obviously so heavy on his mind, he might have poked and prodded her until she spilled every single one of her thoughts. It was what he did best, and what had made him so different from Fred. Out of all her brothers, George was the only one that got her to talk about her ordeal during her first year at Hogwarts. But he was quiet now, quieter than he'd ever been before. It was disconcerting.

She fished around for a topic of conversation in her head. Anything would be good, although the subject of Harry wasn't high on the list at the moment. Needing to hear in George's voice that he was, in fact, okay, though, had her pointedly clearing her throat, and asking, "So, where are Mum and Dad?"

The frown that seemed to be a permanent fixture on his face did not loosen into a smile. "They went to see Andromeda. Mum wanted to offer her condolences and apologies for not attending the wake and funeral."

A wave of quilt slammed into her so hard she nearly gasped- she hadn't even _thought_ about Remus and Tonks today. Would she have even thought about Fred if George hadn't been around?

"Oh, hell," she said, swallowing back a sob.

"You've got a good excuse, being unconscious and all," George said, failing to recognize her distress and smirk at his jest. "I'm sure Andromeda won't take it personally."

"Still…" she whispered.

Eyes swimming with tears, Ginny walked up the Burrow's back porch steps, almost tripping on the crooked one, and into the kitchen. Bill was at the stove with Fleur. They did not look up when she and George entered.

"I'm going upstairs," she said to no one in particular, and took off before someone protested about her dripping all over the floor.

She locked herself in her bedroom and carefully laid Harry's sodden letter on her barren desk. The sun was close to setting, and would do nothing to dry the wet parchment paper….

She took out her wand and stared at it. Using it now would be foolish; underage magic was still only allowed for dire circumstances. The probability of being caught when the Ministry was in shambles, however, was so low that bravely, and without much thought, Ginny pressed the tip of her wand to the letter, promised herself she'd only do it once, and with a jab of her wand, started to painstakingly siphon the soaked letter.

Gliding the tip of her wand to and fro, starting at the bottom of the parchment and working her way up, Ginny did not notice in such a focused state that an owl carrying a very official letter was making its way towards her. And when she thought, _oh, what the hell? _and cast a quick drying charm on the parchment, too, another owl popped into the Weasley property with an identical note strapped to its leg.

Ginny stared at Harry's letter through a small billow of steam and smiled. It looked good as new! Relieved, she folded it carefully, opened the one and only drawer in her desk, and placed it with the utmost delicacy inside.

The relief, however, was short-lived. When Ginny looked up and discovered two owls sitting innocently on her windowsill, she jumped back, startled.

"Oh, no, no, _no_," she gasped, heart sinking when noticing, upon closer inspection, the Ministry seal adorning both letters.

One of the owls, jet black with golden eyes, pecked at the glass to be let in. With shaking fingers, Ginny unlatched the window and took the letters the owls offered her. They left her there without circumstance, alone and petrified.


	10. Chapter 10: Top of the Class

**Title**: These Arms

**Words**: 3,638

**Rating**: PG-13

**Genres**: Romance, Drama, Action/Adventure, Humor

**Characters**: Harry/Ginny, All

**Summary**: Ginny's path to Harry was clear. It's too bad that bravery, of all things, got in the way.

**Author's Note**: Sorry about the wait. I'll try to get the next few chapters out at a much more decent pace. Thank you so much for your patience.

**Chapter 10**: Top of the Class

Harry hardly had a moment to steady himself from the long Portkey ride before meeting with France's Minister of Magic, Marcel Allard. He was a very tall and well put-together man, not a hair out of place, not a wrinkle in his navy dress robes or on his face. He led Harry, Kingsley, Robards and the Aurors around the lavish headquarters in the Parisian capital, pointing out the newly mounted arches in the atrium and the gleaming marble floors that had recently been installed throughout the entire Ministry, all the while being photographed by half a dozen photographers. Harry nodded to everything the Minister said, barely able to string together more than a few words of his heavily accented English.

When they came to a stop at a set of double French doors, completely glass save for the polished, golden knobs, the Minister exclaimed, "_Voil__à_!" and pushed them open to reveal the Aurors' top-of-the-line training facility.

But Harry didn't care about the large classroom sizes or the plush dragon leather benches at the weight-lifting station. All he wondered was _what the hell he was doing in France._

He was promptly whisked away to a press conference. He wanted to protest, wanted to point out that he'd already given plenty of information on what he'd done throughout the war, and couldn't it just be translated? But he bit his tongue when meeting Kingsley's eye. He would no longer solely reflect upon himself, but also upon his teammates and his country.

The questions by the sea of reporters, journalists and historians were rude and oftentimes stupid, far more ridiculous even than the conference he'd participated in back home, further fueling his disdain for the press. By the end of the interrogation, and after a particularly disturbing question about his and Ron's relationship, Harry reckoned he'd ground his teeth down a centimeter or two.

"Why are we here, Kingsley?" Harry asked as quietly as possible sometime later during an extravagant lunch on the grounds of the French Ministry.

Kingsley, sitting just at Harry's right, leaned over slightly and said, "There are a number of reasons, Harry. How is it, do you think, that the Ministry here in France has largely been unspoiled by Voldemort's regime?"

Harry discreetly looked around over the sparkling crystal water glass he brought to his lips. "I've never been here before, but it seems like it's flourished."

"Yes, I believe it has," Kingsley said with a quick raise of his brows.

After a pause, in which Harry took in the sweeping, sun-soaked gardens, the dozens of tables laden with a great number of dishes, set with fine china and gold-plated flatware, the waiters and waitresses dressed impeccably, all under an enormous white tent, he concluded, "So, the Ministry here was somehow _involved_?"

"Everyone and their great-aunt's Crup has been involved, Potter," Robards, on Harry's left, growled.

Harry fought the urge to glare at him. Thankfully, he was saved from responding when they were interrupted by a handsomely dressed woman, flanked by two very large, very dim looking men.

_Bit like Dudley, _Harry thought while withholding a grin, but he soon grimaced. He'd forgotten all about the Dursleys! He wondered in quick succession if they were safe, if they were okay, _alive _even. And if they weren't, what would he _do_?

_Bloody dumb question, _he berated himself when his stomach dropped at the thought. It didn't matter that they'd mistreated him his entire life- they were the only blood ties to his mother, they were his family, like it or not. They'd put a roof over his head, kept him fed—

_Barely, _he couldn't help thinking.

Still, it was only right to ask, to know…

The sound of a polite, but firm _a-hem-hem_ brought him out of his reverie with a slight shudder. He looked around rapidly for a bright pink bow then gave himself a mental shake, suddenly aware that he was standing up alongside Kingsley and Robards, and holding the hand of the woman that had approached their table.

"Hello, Harry Potter," he said automatically.

The corner of the woman's mouth tilted up into an amused smile. "_Sì_, you already said that."

"Did I?" Harry said, feeling his face burn. "Sorry, I—"

"Do not apologize. You are a very important man. I'm sure there are lots of thoughts bouncing around your head," she said with a dazzling smile. "Cosima!" The woman's eyes turned to daggers at the sight of a young, weedy girl materializing from behind the two body guards. "It seems that we are late!"

"_Ministro, la gara ha detto_ —"

"I don't care what it said. _Where are our seats?!_"

After a few intense minutes, the woman he'd just met, apparently the Minister of Magic of Italy, was sitting a few seats away and demurely eating a hastily brought out salad.

"What a piece of work," Robards muttered after reclaiming their seats.

"You'll be quite close to that 'piece of work' for the next week or two," Kingsley pointed out quietly over the _Coq au Vin_.

"If only it were close in another way, eh, boss?" an Auror said from across the table.

There were laughs from the men and moans of disgust from the women. Harry tried to look like he was enjoying himself, or at the very least _listening _to the conversation taking place, but his mind kept straying back to England, where he'd left so much unresolved…

Harry hardly had a moment to speak privately with Kingsley. After a waiter banished his plate of uneaten crêpes with a slight scowl on his face, Harry inquired casually about his relatives.

"They're still in hiding," Kingsley said. "We can't move them until their house on Privet Drive has been cleared of any and all Dark Magic."

"Oh," he said with an air of indifference, still trying to assure himself that he did not care about their well-being.

"As soon as there's any new information, Harry, you'll be sure to have it," Kingsley said, seeing right through him. "I'll keep you updated on Ron and Hermione, as well, if you'd like?"

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, unable to mask his appreciation.

Kingsley gave him a rough pat on the back and stood. "It's the least I could do, Harry."

Before the Minister turned to speak with the awaiting Italian Minister of Magic, Harry started, "Oh, and sir? What _exactly_ are we going to do here in France?"

The look he was given silenced him immediately.

"Later," Kingsley said quietly, taking Harry's hand in his and gripping it firmly. "I believe," he said, a little louder, "that training will begin in a couple hours time. I'll see you then, Harry."

The hairs at the nape of his neck stood on end; someone was watching their exchange. He forced a smile and nodded.

Harry and the rest of the Aurors were soon led to their temporary rooms on the seventh level of the French Ministry. He did not know what to expect, but being within the walls of such an extravagant Ministry, he did assume he'd get his own bedroom. He was proven wrong, however, and found himself sharing a large room with his team. Four single beds occupied the space, two on either side of the room, each accompanied by a nightstand, lamp, and a trunk at the end of the bed.

He didn't admire the general splendor of the furnishings. He didn't even interact with his teammates, even though he knew he should have at least made an effort. He simply took off his heavy Auror robes, sat upon his bed, and once again started questioning his decision to be here, to be a part of this.

_What the hell am I doing? _

_Am I wasting my time?_

They were his last thoughts before sleep consumed him.

He first dreamt of something terrible, of bright red hair streaked thickly with blood and soft sobs that shredded his heart to pieces. But then the sickening sound stopped, and through a heavy, black fog, Ginny appeared before him, happy and whole.

When he was shaken awake hours later, it was the only thing he remembered, and he held onto the vision for as long as he could.

He ran three miles with the Aurors on a track inside the French Ministry. He would have thought the magically artificial scenery was fantastic if Ginny wasn't still heavy on his mind; he enjoyed the thought of her far more. It kept him going, even when he started to fall behind his group and eventually became the last one to complete the run, nearly three full minutes after everyone else.

"It took me a while to keep up, too," his teammate Thomas Snell said, barely looking winded. He held out a water bottle for Harry, which he took gratefully, still panting and doubled over.

"Thanks," Harry said, but when he looked back up, Thomas was already walking over to the heavy oak door that separated the track from the large classrooms and exercise room.

"He's always been that way," a voice from behind him said.

He turned to find Edith, looking slightly disheveled while adjusting her eye patch. "Yeah?" he said dejectedly, taking a deep pull from the bottle. "I reckoned he hated me like everyone else around here does."

His team leader's brows furrowed. "No one hates you here, Potter."

"Could've fooled me," he muttered, starting to follow Thomas' footsteps.

"Some of us think you're too inexperienced, so what?" she said, and he paused just to be polite, even though all the blood in his body rushed to his head and roared in his ears. He wanted to defend himself, but at the same time, a part of him knew she was right. "They didn't take down You-Know-Who, did they?"

He sucked in a breath, trying to calm himself. _Here we go, _he thought. "It was mostly luck—" he started.

"Rubbish," she said, so sharply that he faced her, hands fisted at his sides.

"You don't know the half of it, Gwerder," he said, tensed up and ready to argue.

"And I don't need to," she said, crossing her arms. "Neither does anyone else. You shouldn't have to prove yourself, but you will anyways. You're Harry Potter, _you'll prove them all wrong_, like you've done time and again."

"Why do you have so much faith in me? You don't even _know_ me."

She pressed her lips together firmly, suddenly looking unsure. After a moment, she said quietly, startling him, "I was briefly partnered with Tonks before she went into hiding last year… she assured me that you'd save us all. And she was right."

He swallowed hard. "I didn't save _her_…"

"She wouldn't have wanted you to, not if it meant a safer world for her son." She smiled. "You've given everyone a future, Potter, including yourself," she added softly. "Everyone here knows that they owe you their lives, and I promise you this much: all of us, even the few that don't seem to like you right now, will do anything and everything to protect you."

"How can you be so sure?" he said, his voice gruffer than he would've liked.

"Because, saving people, it's in our blood, just like it's in yours." She dropped her hand on his shoulder for just a second before pulling it away. "Us Aurors, we've had a tough time this past year, doing what's right when we were told to do wrong, knowing who to trust…. Give us a chance to get used to you. We give all new recruits a hard time- you're just a special case."

_Easier said than done,_ he thought.

"Come on, then," she said as he continued to gaze at her skeptically, "we've got to get you ripped."

He let out his first bark of laughter that day and was led to the exercise room. And while he went through the exhausting motions of bench presses, chest flies, pull-ups and pull-downs, Edith gave him tidbits of information on various Aurors.

"Thomas Snell's Muggleborn," she'd said to him at one point.

"What does that have to do with anything?" he'd asked her rather crossly, letting go of a row rope rather suddenly and causing a loud _bang_ to echo across the room.

"I'm not prejudice, if that's what you're asking," she'd said, glaring. "I'm simply stating a fact. No one here's gotten to know him much. When he was accepted into the Academy, it was just before Dumbledore was killed."

Harry had felt a tug in his chest when his old Headmaster's name was brought up. If it'd showed in his face how discomfited he felt, Edith didn't say anything.

"He was advised to go into hiding almost immediately after Scrimgeour was found dead," she'd gone on, jaw tense. "Lucky he left when he did. We lost a few members that refused to go."

They went on with their training almost silently, only talking when Harry needed instruction or correction on the equipment. When Verena, Harry's partner, passed them on her way to the drinking fountain, Harry nodded his head towards her and said to Edith from his upside-down position, "Well, Snell's a lot friendlier than _her_."

Harry did four more sit-ups before getting down, red-faced and sweating.

"Is that all you can do?" Edith said, ignoring his previous statement.

He shrugged and watched as she climbed into place. She banged out thirty sit-ups in the time it took him to do ten, then slowed down when her shirt started sliding down to bunch under her armpits. He looked away quickly, but not before he noticed a thin white scar going down the center of her stomach.

"Bugger," she said. She was facing him a moment later, the grey hairs at her temples sticking out every which way. She nodded her head towards the corner of the room, where Verena was now tying her hair into a messy topknot. "She's been through a lot lately. Not that that's an excuse, really. I mean, everyone has."

"Yeah," he agreed quietly.

"Her family is in a bit of a bind with the Ministry, and her previous partner…" Edith took a deep breath, as if collecting herself, before trying again, "Her previous partner was killed in action, during the Hogwarts battle."

"I'm sorry," he said instantly, feeling his stomach drop out. "Was he a friend of yours, too?"

"_She_," Edith corrected. "And yes, we were very close at one point. We started training at the same time. She was a force to be reckoned with, Georgiana was. Didn't let anything get in the way of what she wanted."

Harry smiled. "She sounds a lot like Tonks."

"She and Tonks were inseparable, actually, and _so_ similar. They wanted the same things... and got them, too. Everything from thigh-high dragon leather boots to men they shouldn't be with."

He felt like he'd been hit with a very powerful Cruciatus Curse. Livid, he started, "Remus Lupin was—"

"—a great man," she finished. "I know. But again, this is a fact, Potter: Tonks- and Georgiana as well- married complicated men," she said. "I have nothing against Tonks having eloped with a werewolf, or Georgiana marrying a man nearly twice her age, and an Auror no less! All I'm saying is, they paid for their reckless choices, and we're paying for it, too. Do you think we wanted them to die?"

"No, of course not," he responded hurriedly.

"If Tonks hadn't been with Remus, hadn't just had his son, do you think she would still be here? I do," she said, starting to sound brittle. "Do you think if Georgiana hadn't married an Auror, hadn't been emotionally attached during the battle, that she'd still be here? I do."

The thought of the strong Auror before him coming undone had him scrambling for a reassuring response. Finally, he said, coming to the realization himself, "You can't keep asking yourself those sorts of questions. You'll go mad. You do what you have to… and if you survive, then you're meant to."

Edith stared at him for a very long time. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, Kingsley and Robards walked in, gathering everyone's immediate attention with their presence.

All Aurors without head titles were called forward and led to a large room that was completely padded and doubly covered in cushioning charms, then put through a series of drills, all of which Harry excelled in: if he didn't come out on top, he was a close second or third. When he dodged a mild stinging hex from a charmed and hooded dummy, and retaliated with a sharp "_Stupefy!,_" he was the quickest to disable it. And when he disarmed the animated mannequin in a later drill with a perfectly aimed "_Expelliarmus!,_" he earned stares that left him feeling slightly uncomfortable.

And with a jolt, he realized why. The disarming spell was now known as his "signature" move, and Harry hadn't cast it since the day Voldemort fell.

The first pair of eyes he met after he was declared top private of his class were those of Robard's. If he wasn't mistaken, there seemed to be a hint of admiration in them. The second were those of his partner. She didn't bother to hide how peeved she was; she'd be sharing the spotlight if it wasn't for the half-point difference, after all.

"Well done, Harry," Kingsley said, pulling him aside from where he and the head Aurors had been watching.

"Thank you, sir."

Kingsley nodded his head and stared out over Harry's shoulder. "Now, I must warn you of something."

"What is it?" Harry said, tensing immediately.

"It would be prudent to stay awake tonight, as sometime after midnight, you'll be sent to Italy via Portkey with your team and a few others."

"So, France…?" Harry started.

"It's a cover. People can't know that you're in Italy. They can't know _anything. _We need a few of your hairs, so that you can maintain appearances here—"

"But—"

"Do you want to go to Italy or not?"

Harry did not hesitate. He'd come too far to be left behind. "Yes, of course I do-"

"Then Vitali will trim your hair and deliver it to me before you touch that Portkey. Understood?"

"The last time someone pretended to be me," Harry said quickly, before Kingsley turned away, "they got their ear blown off. And Mad-Eye…"

"Harry, everything will be alright," Kingsley said in understanding. "Your doppelganger won't set foot outside of the Ministry. I won't allow it. And we've set about a hundred rules for this mission." He tried to hold back a smile. "Of course, if it were you, Ron and Hermione, they'd all be broken in a split second."

Harry did not find that funny at all and kept his lips in a firm line, but Kingsley's reassurance would have to be enough. There wasn't any way he would miss out on bringing the escaped Death Eaters to justice.

"Now, I have some business to take care of before we go our separate ways. I can't stress enough how important it is that you don't say a word about this trip to anyone. Only certain Aurors know what is transpiring tonight. The less people who know, the better."

They separated with a handshake, and Harry followed his fellow colleagues to dinner. Most everyone was friendlier towards him than before. Of course, the fact that he was not sandwiched between the Minister and the Head of the Auror Department must've helped his case, as well as proving himself more than competent during the drill. Either way, he soon found himself conversing freely with Thomas and his closest friend Devin Teague, who Harry remembered vaguely from the ill-fated first Auror meeting in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

_That seems like it was so long ago…_

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Verena get up and follow another Auror's footsteps out of the dining hall and into the corridor. Harry excused himself and went after her. She was just about to turn the corner when he called out to her.

He stopped short for a minute when he met her eyes. She looked nervous, her eyes flickering up and down the halls.

"What is it, Potter?"

"Kingsley said you'd be the one to look for… for a haircut."

Her eyebrows drew down in confusion. "What?"

Now Harry became anxious. He glanced around, focusing on every shadow or sign of movement. This wasn't the place to converse freely about their upcoming mission after all.

Verena looked ready to protest when he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into the closest broom cupboard. With a quick wave of his wand, Harry secured the door and protected it against eavesdroppers.

"Did Kingsley tell you about the mission?"

"About Italy? Of course he did! I'm the only person in the department that is _from_ there!"

"Well, he told me specifically to come to you. Are you or are you not in charge of collecting hair for the Polyjuice Potion?"

"Oh." She had the decency to look sheepish. "Right. Sorry. I have a lot of things on my mind. Turn around, then."

As Harry shifted around, his arm grazed her front, and he was immediately grateful for the deep darkness of the small storage area.

"Sorry," he said.

"Shut it," she snapped, "and give me some light, will you?"

It was over in less than a minute. Harry felt extreme coldness all along his scalp, similar somewhat to the feel of a Disillusionment Charm, before Verena threw open the door and left in great haste.

Harry did not notice a small burst of light and puff of smoke several yards away as he gingerly ruffled the much shorter hair of his head.


	11. Chapter 11: Don't Panic

**Title**: These Arms

**Words**: 3,273

**Rating**: PG-13

**Genres**: Romance, Drama, Action/Adventure, Humor

**Characters**: Harry/Ginny, All

**Summary**: Ginny's path to Harry was clear. It's too bad that bravery, of all things, got in the way.

**Author's Note**: Writing this chapter took a couple years longer than I thought. I got a new job, got married, and I'm now situated in my new home! Everything is grand and I'm writing again. Enjoy and please review!

**Chapter 11**: Don't Panic

…

_When Ginny looked up and discovered two owls sitting innocently on her windowsill, she jumped back, startled. _

"_Oh, no, no, no," she gasped, heart sinking when noticing, upon closer inspection, the Ministry seal adorning both letters._

_One of the owls, jet black with golden eyes, pecked at the glass to be let in. With shaking fingers, Ginny unlatched the window and took the letters the owls offered her. They left her there without circumstance, alone and petrified._

…

Ginny stared down at the letters for several minutes, unable to bring herself to open them. She came to the conclusion that she had the absolute worst sort of luck. Why else would this happen to her? There was no other explanation.

She sank into her bed like a bag of rocks. She knew what the letters contained, but that did not bring her any closer to breaking their seals and facing one of her stupidest mistakes yet.

"What am I going to do?" she whispered to herself.

A short knock at her bedroom door jostled her from her thoughts a second later, just as the letters started to warm her cold fingertips…

"Ginny? Eez zere anyzing I can do? Are you okay?"

She stared down at the envelopes as they started to redden.

_Bugger! They're howlers!_

"Ginny? Open zee door. Zere must be somezing I can—oh!"

Ginny opened her door promptly. Fleur tumbled in, her hair almost catching in the door Ginny shut it behind her so quickly.

"Lock it. Lock the door!" Ginny said hurriedly. She dropped the letters with a yelp as they began to burn her fingers. "And a silencing—"

Fleur had already flicked her wand towards the door. It made a loud squelching noise before a deafening silence reached her ears.

"What eez going on?" Fleur said in confusion.

"I'm being summoned…" she said helplessly.

The envelopes burst into flames.

"_UNDERAGE SORCERY HAS BEEN DETECTED…"_

"_THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC ADVISES AGAINST FURTHER WAND USAGE…"_

"…_YOUR PRESCENCE IS REQUIRED AT A DISCIPLINARY HEARING AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC AT 11 AM ON MAY 26__TH__…"_

The clear astonishment in Fleur's eyes had her laughing hysterically.

"This is… this is just perfect!" she said through several chortles. "I can't- ha ha ha- can't catch a break!"

"Ginny…" Fleur started. "Maybe we should tell—?"

"No," she said, pulling herself as together as she could. "No, we can't tell anyone."

"But—"

"Are you my sister-in-law or not?" Ginny asked at once.

"Zat eez not fair," she replied, tossing her long blonde hair over her shoulder and crossing her arms. "You cannot use zat against me."

"Watch me," she said stubbornly.

Fleur frowned at her.

"Look, I'll find my own way out of this. It was my fault after all. Just please, give me a chance to do this. I don't want to worry anyone."

Fleur inhaled to speak, but put pressed her lips together as someone started to pound on the door.

"Ginny? Fleur? What's going on?"

It was her father. He must've just gotten home and been informed of her irrational behavior by Bill. She stuffed the letters in her desk drawer, looked meaningfully at Fleur and pressed her index finger to her lips.

Fleur glared at her for a moment, then waved her wand at the door. The silencing charm lifted and the door flew open.

Dad stood there, wand in hand, ready to blast down the door, Bill and George peering at them over his shoulders.

"Are you all right?" he asked, looking around the room quickly. Though he did not see anyone but the two of them, he did not lower his wand.

"Fleur and I were discussing… err…"

"Her menses," Fleur chimed in quickly.

"Ah," Dad said, pocketing his wand and backing away in great haste. "I see. Well, if that's what all this is about, then… boys?"

Ginny's threw Fleur a look of displeasure. Fleur smiled at her brightly. Her "trick" had worked. When Ginny turned back to face the men at her doorway, it was suddenly clear; the men had scattered.

"Nozing works better than zat!" Fleur said haughtily. "I theenk you owe me."

"Hardly."

"Ginny, if you do not find a way out of zees," she continued seriously. "… I will 'ave to tell someone."

"Give me a week, that's all I ask," she said quickly. "And if I can't shake the Ministry, I'll tell Mum and Dad myself, all right?"

"Fine," Fleur said, flouncing out of her room.

A part of Ginny was glad to see Fleur go, but suddenly, there in her overly warm bedroom, she felt inexplicably cold and alone and eleven again….

Several days later, after countless hours pouring over the vast collection of books Hermione had stored in Ron's bedroom on Wizarding Law, Ginny was just about ready to throw in the towel. Not a single tome contained so much as a paragraph on how to dig herself out of the hole she'd firmly planted herself in… and it certainly didn't help matters that she barely understood the half of what she'd read.

Her last hope was a trip to Diagon Alley.

The moment she'd heard Charlie was accompanying George to the joke shop to assess for damages, she begged her mother relentlessly to allow her to travel with them. She was only permitted to go on the condition that she stay within eyesight of her brothers at all times.

Luckily, the little library she wanted to visit was just across the alleyway….

Ginny peered through the darkness that was Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and promptly sneezed. The air was heavy with dust, and the heat so unbearable she was sweating within minutes of arriving.

Charlie waved his wand and the boards covering the front door and windows promptly disappeared.

"That's better," he said, cracking a window and breathing in deeply.

"Do you want to put the sign on the door?" Ginny asked, turning to George.

He stood very still beside the fireplace, clutching the bright yellow "Under Construction" sign to his chest. He had yet to move since arriving.

"George?" Charlie said carefully.

"I-I can't do this," George said shakily. He sucked in a breath, as if bracing himself for an onslaught of pain. "I can't do this without him, without F-Fred."

With her heart in a vice, Ginny turned away from the sight of George's thin frame heaving with sobs and covered her ears.

She had not foreseen this. She'd been far too preoccupied with undoing her thoughtless, childish blunder of underage magic. But now, as Charlie tried to soothe George, voice unsteady, Ginny found that she did not care if she had to spend a day in Azkaban or lose the wand tucked safely away in her pocket, as long as her family was healthy, and happy, and whole, everything would be okay.

She did not think of the little library for the rest of the day. She kept busy, cleaning the shop under George's constant yet melancholy watch, dusting empty shelves and wiping down the grime from the windows and their displays while Charlie took inventory in the backroom.

Ginny had almost finished mopping the entire store when her stomach gave a treacherous rumble.

"I'll get lunch," George said, standing up at once. He disappeared to the backroom for a moment and brought Charlie back out with him.

"Looks great, Ginny," he said, unceremoniously dropping a clipboard onto the front counter.

"Nothing but a little elbow grease," she said, though her back was aching and her hair was sticking to her sweaty cheeks.

"Well, I'm almost done in the back. I have a couple of boxes of Nose-Biting Teacups I still have to get through, but I should have that done in a half-hour or so, then we can load the shelves."

"All right," George said hurriedly. He seemed very keen on getting out of here. "I'm off to The Leaky Cauldron. What do you two want?"

Ginny and Charlie settled on an order of fish and chips each, and George nearly ran out of the shop.

"I have a feeling lunch may take a while," Charlie said, massaging his temples. "Merlin, I never want to count that much again."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "You should finish the rest of the cleaning, then. Why is it that girls are always given these kinds of jobs?"

"Didn't you want to go to the library?"

She squinted at him suspiciously. "Don't change the subject!"

Charlie sighed. "I dunno, Ginny. Because that's the way it's always been…?"

"No wonder you haven't got a girlfriend," she muttered.

"Hey, that's uncalled for!"

"When are you going to bring home a girl, anyway?"

"You're turning into Mum," he groaned.

"Or are you into men? It's perfectly fine with me—"

"Bugger off, Ginny."

She smiled at him as sweetly as possible. "I guess I _will_ head to the library, then…"

Charlie waved her away. "Whatever will get you out of my hair," he responded. "But don't wander off! I'll come fetch you when George comes back."

Ginny stepped into the Alley and squinted through the early afternoon light. The foot traffic was very light, lighter than she'd ever seen it, and there was only one food stand around the bend, where a man in a heavy black cloak was selling ice cream to a woman clutching a snotty toddler's hand.

She quickly crossed the brick walkway and stepped into Hookum & Pugh.

A bell above the door announced her entrance, and a minute later she wished it hadn't. As she gazed around the room, hopelessness strangled her by the neck. The bookshelves were empty and caked in dust, the ancient tables and chairs filthy.

What was she going to do now?

Ginny turned around to leave when a small and harried woman hurried to greet her.

"Hello, hello, dear! Oh, I'm awfully sorry," she said at once at the look on Ginny's face. "My nephew must've forgotten to put a sign on the door. I told him half a dozen times, but he's so anxious to help me that he gets a little scatter-brained. He's arranging the books in storage as we speak, you see."

"Oh, that's all right. I can come back another time," Ginny said, trying to smile through her disappointment.

"Nonsense! I can help you find whatever it is you need, though it may take a little longer than usual to get to," the woman said, extending her hand in greeting. "My name is Okena Pugh."

"I'm Ginny," she said, shaking the woman's hand warmly.

"Ginny?" said a strange, deep voice from the depths of the store. "Ginny Weasley?"

The hair on the nape of her neck stood on end, and she quickly released Ms. Pugh's hand to draw her wand.

"Who said that?" Ginny demanded. She pointed the wand at Ms. Pugh. "Who are you?"

Ms. Pugh raised her hands defensively. "Put the wand down, or get out of my library," she said cautiously. "I don't want any trouble."

"Please, don't hurt her," said the voice, closer this time.

"S-show yourself," Ginny said as calmly as possible though her heart was slamming hard at the base of her throat and making her voice shake. She drew a step closer to Ms. Pugh.

"Okay, okay!" A young man with brown eyes and olive skin walked out of the darkness with his hands up. She turned her wand on him and he winced. "You don't remember me, do you?"

Her wand faltered a fraction of an inch. "How do you know my name?" she asked, looking him over.

He was unarmed and wandless- there was no telltale bulge in his pockets. But he was not familiar enough for her to lower her wand. He had a strange accent that was not quite British and an easy-going manner about him that was very foreign to her.

"I grew up with you, before I moved to America with my family," he said softly. "You have 6 older brothers—"

"Everyone knows that," she dismissed.

"—and you kissed me the day before my eleventh birthday."

She stared at him, gaping.

Ginny relived the moment in a split second. She saw herself in her mind's eye, ten years old with her hair in pigtails and her cheeks bright red as she leaned over and pressed her lips roughly against those of the nicest boy she'd ever met.

"_Hadwyn_?" she breathed.

"In the flesh," he said, giving her a brief smile. "Now, would you mind?"

He gestured towards her wand and she lowered it immediately.

They stared at each other in silence for a few moments until a soft cough broke her of her reverie.

"I'm _so_ sorry," Ginny said, turning to Ms. Pugh at once. "And mortified," she added for good measure.

Ms. Pugh shook her head laughingly, passing a hand through her hair in relief. "Don't worry, child. I understand. It's been a long year."

Ginny turned back to Hadwyn, and the warm happiness of her childhood flooded through her like firewhiskey. All she could think about as she gazed into his eyes was sunshine…

"I can't believe it's you," she said. "You… you just disappeared. What happened? Why'd you leave?"

"I'll let you two catch up," Ms. Pugh said. "I'll bring you something back from the Leaky?"

"That'd be great, Aunt 'Kena," Hadwyn said.

Ms. Pugh turned to her expectantly. "And for you, dear?"

Ginny politely declined the offer, and Ms. Pugh left after collecting her coin purse. The door shut behind her and the bell above it echoed loudly in the empty library.

"America?" she said incredulously.

Hadwyn laughed and shrugged. He took a seat on a bench at a long table near the register, and Ginny followed suit. "I never received a Hogwarts letter."

"You're kidding," she said, surprised.

"I wish I was," he said. "I'm a squib."

He said nothing more. It was as if he was waiting for her to say something…

"I still don't understand," she said slowly. "What does being a squib have to do with you moving?"

"There are a handful of schools in America that are dedicated to immersing squibs in both the Muggle and Wizarding world," he responded, seemingly pleased by her response. "Squibs have some magical abilities, see, it just takes a bit more effort to release them."

"That's… great," she said. "That must've been… well, that must've been _hell_."

Hadwyn laughed again. "It was definitely hell at first, I won't lie. Especially with Audrey and Catlyn always showing off. Remember them?"

"Your older sisters? Yeah, of course! Audrey and Percy were constantly yelling at us to leave them alone while they did their homework. And Catlyn was always in on F-Fred and George's scheming."

Hadwyn looked at her carefully. He must've suspected there was something wrong as she faltered over Fred's name, but he thought better of bringing it up. "Well, it wasn't until Emsley turned out to be a squib, too, that it was a bit easier for me to swallow, ya know? I was someone she could look up to."

Ginny remembered the young girl fondly and smiled. "She used to follow us around a lot. How is she? And little Sawyer?"

She found herself conversing easily with Hadwyn, as if he'd never even left all those years ago. She could've talked to him for hours if Charlie hadn't stuck his head through the door and called for her anxiously through the darkness.

The minute she reached him, with Hadwyn just behind her, Charlie's eyebrows flew up into his hairline.

"Is this the reason why you wanted to come to the library so badly?" he asked, looking between the two of them.

Hadwyn opened his mouth to answer, but Ginny beat him to it.

"Charlie," she said sweetly though her voice was dripping venom. "Ask me that question again."

He looked at her challengingly. "Ginny, if Mum and Dad find out that I left you alone with a boy—"

"They won't," she said promptly. "Besides, don't you remember Hadwyn? He used to come over to The Burrow and play with Ron and me."

Charlie shook Hadwyn's hand politely then turned back to Ginny. "George is back with lunch. I'll give you a minute to say goodbye."

Ginny had evidently run out of time. As she watched Charlie hover just outside the door, she turned back to Hadwyn and awkwardly apologized.

"It's okay," he said. "I've gotten the big brother death glare a couple of times now. No biggie."

"I think it is a little worse with Charlie, seeing as all his free time is spent being chummy with dragons."

"Nice," said Hadwyn, generally impressed. "They don't have any of those in America."

"It's probably for the best," Ginny said.

They stood there and shuffled their feet. Charlie knocked on the door to hurry her.

"Well, it was nice seeing you again," she started, taking a couple of steps towards the exit.

"Will I see you again?" he blurted.

Ginny stopped with her had on the knob. "I hope so," she answered honestly. "I do really need to check out some books…"

"Here."

Hadwyn jotted down his address on a scrap bit of parchment. "Owl me. Whenever."

_16 Village Square, Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, England_

"You live in the village?" she asked in surprise.

"Yeah, Audrey, Catlyn and I came up a few days ahead of our parents to get situated since my younger siblings are still taking their exams," he said. "But I really want my own place. I actually start working part-time at the grocers the day after tomorrow if you ever want to stop by and visit…"

"That sounds great."

Charlie knocked on the door again.

"I'm going to murder him," she growled.

Hadwyn grinned. "Try not to."

She hugged him quickly and walked hurriedly out of the store, just in time to catch Charlie peering through the bare window display at them.

"You're just as bad as Ron!" she huffed, stomping across the alley and back into Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

"Am I?" Charlie said, shutting the door after her.

"Yes," she said, sitting down at a hastily conjured table and chair. She hadn't realized she was so hungry until she smelled the fried fish and chips.

"What's happened now?" George asked, though he didn't seem keen on hearing an answer.

Charlie could hardly get a word in edgewise as she explained herself, though she didn't know why she was being so defensive. When she mentioned the part about the shopkeeper, Ms. Pugh, leaving for lunch and leaving her and Hadwyn alone, George finally said, "You should've left when she had."

"What?" she exclaimed through a mouth of chips. "You can't be serious! That's the boy that used to hide gnomes in your trouser drawer! He's _not_ dangerous. Trust me."

"You don't know what he's capable of," George said.

"Or if he's been cursed or Confunded," Charlie finished.

"Bugger off, the both of you," she said. "I can handle it."

"Well, I hope you can handle us telling Dad about this..."

"You wouldn't!" she said, horrified.

"I'm your brother. Of course I would," Charlie said seriously.

"Need another boy toy while Harry's away, do you?" George said rather cruelly.

Before she could stop herself, Ginny was dumping her takeaway box over George's head. She was crying as she said, "Just because Fred died doesn't mean you can be nasty to me! To any of us!"

George's face was bright red. His wand was suddenly in his hands and emitting bright blue sparks.

"Go home now, Ginny," Charlie said, glaring at her.

"Gladly!"


	12. Chapter 12: Snap Out of It

**Title**: These Arms

**Words**: 3,643

**Rating**: PG-13

**Genres**: Romance, Drama, Action/Adventure, Humor

**Characters**: Harry/Ginny, All

**Summary**: Ginny's path to Harry was clear. It's too bad that bravery, of all things, got in the way.

**Author's Note**: Writing this chapter was kind of a headache, I'm not going to lie. I wrote it several times, with Luna making an appearance in the first draft, and Hermione and Ron in the second. In the end, I cut them out… and still ended up with three separate POVs after melding everything together. I think this is my best go of it. Let me know what you all think, and if you haven't already, please check out my other story, _The River Otter Wish_, which I will be updating in the next week or so.

**Chapter 12**: Snap Out of It

Hadwyn groaned as he lifted his arms to hang his apron on the coat rack in the entrance hall, astounded that he had enough energy to do even that. He'd worked his first full shift at the grocer across the square, and he was already debating whether or not to return tomorrow.

_This is what you wanted, _he reminded himself. _Freedom._

He kicked off his shoes, toed off his socks, and dropped his keys into a decorative bowl on the credenza. He winced prematurely, waiting for a loud _clank _of metal against metal to reach his ears; his older sisters were probably asleep, considering the lateness of the hour. As they transformed into metaphorical beasts when woken, he was not keen on rousing them from their slumber.

When the keys barely made a sound, however, he looked into the bowl curiously. There was a letter, addressed to him, sitting innocently within it. He picked it up and glared upon noticing that the seal had been broken.

"I'm going to kill you, Catlyn," he muttered.

She'd already been told off by both their parents and Audrey for scaring off two potential girlfriends back in Salem last year, and he knew she was trying to protect him, but this was getting out of control. She'd sworn she wouldn't snoop around his things anymore.

_So much for her promises, _he thought, rolling his eyes in irritation.

He unfolded the letter and read it as he slowly climbed the stairs to his bedroom.

_Dear Hadwyn,_

_ I don't think I've ever been this thrilled at the sight of a dozen books soaring through my bedroom window. Thank you for sending them to me so quickly. You've been a wonderful help. I really owe you one!_

_I know I said I would elaborate on my rather ridiculous situation in my last letter to you, but there's not much to tell, just that I've been summoned to the Ministry for performing underage magic… I'm sure you gathered as much, what with the reading material I requested. _

_Anyway, I haven't told anyone but my sister-in-law about it, and that was mostly because she walked in as the howlers were about to go off. I need to get myself out of this. This is my doing, and I'd rather not worry my family about it. If you could do me one last, enormous favor and not breathe a word of this to anyone, I would be eternally grateful._

_Forever in your debt,_

_Ginny_

Hadwyn smiled as he started into his room. He hoped he would get to see Ginny again soon. There was something about her that captivated him, and he felt that it had everything to do with the last seven years he'd not been there for. A part of him still saw her as a silly ten year old, all innocence and easy times. Now, she was a beautiful young woman with a sadness in her eyes that he wanted to erase. She had changed, and a part of him wondered, had he not left, what they could have become together…

He leaned back against the inside of his bedroom door to shut it as a flutter of movement caught his eye.

A flash of brilliant light flared from beside him, smacking him hard in the face and knocking him sideways. He landed roughly on his bed, head spinning and ears ringing, his brain rattling in his skull. He tried to get up, dizzy and disoriented, but was thwarted as thick rope spewed out from the darkness surrounding him to wrap around his legs, his torso…

He yelled for help through a mouthful of blood, trying unsuccessfully to pull at the rope curling tightly around his chest, but it was as if he had cotton stuffed down his throat. The rope continued up to pin his arms, then wound around his neck firmly, choking him.

"Now, now," said a voice lightly. "We want him alive, Jugson."

"_Lumos_," said another, rougher voice.

Hadwyn was momentarily blinded, but that was the least of his worries. He could hardly breathe. The rope was still strangling him, and he struggled in vain for air.

"Jugson!"

The binding around his throat gave way as Jugson finally relented. He inhaled greedily, coughing violently when he sucked blood into his raw windpipe.

The sight of what he could only presume to be a portly man, masked and cloaked all in black, swam before his tear-filled eyes.

"I'm going to remove the silencing charm," the man said, grabbing his cheeks to keep him from looking away. Through the eye holes of his mask, Hadwyn could see a pair of black, beady eyes staring at him intensely. "If you make any sort of noise to alert the girls in those snug little nightgowns of our presence, we'll gut them while you watch. Understood?"

Hadwyn nodded once, his entire body shaking with rage.

The man threw his accomplice a look over his shoulder. Jugson waved his wand, and Hadwyn swallowed hard as the silencing charm lifted.

"Mr. Grubstick," the man started seriously, twirling a short, cherry wood wand idly, "it seems like you picked up right where you left off seven years ago."

"I don't know what you mean," Hadwyn said hoarsely.

"You don't, do you?" he said mockingly.

Jugson laughed.

"Your family was quite close to the blood traitor Weasleys before your hasty departure several years ago. Am I correct?" Hadwyn only glowered at him. "I've got my eye on the littlest Weasley bird, and in turn, on you. She gets around, doesn't she? Before she paid you any mind, she was off blowing Harry Potter."

"Go to hell," he retorted through gritted teeth.

The man lifted his mask away from his face to reveal hollowed eyes and an extremely pale complexion. He was grinning at Hadwyn menacingly as he said, "You don't know who I am, do you?"

"I'm assuming you're going to tell me," Hadwyn spat.

The man delivered an unexpected, swift punch to his abdomen. He groaned and curled into himself, only for the man to pull him back by the ropes around his neck, purposefully suffocating him again.

"I was Lord Voldemort's fourth in command," he growled, "and now I'm running the show." He shook at the rope, and the corners of Hadwyn's vision started to darken. "Luckily, I'm giving you front row tickets."

He must've passed out for a moment because the next thing he heard was, "He's coming to, Crabbe."

The blurry forms of his assailants sharpened gradually. Hadwyn let out a series of strangled wheezes. The stout man that had been throttling him was laughing softly and held up the letter Ginny had written him. Dazedly, it dawned on him then that it hadn't been Catlyn who'd opened his mail after all…

"Do it now."

"_Imperio!_"

His whole body shook as the curse hit him. Pain escaped him, and he was floating away from himself, and oddly enough he was okay with that. He was happy, relaxed even. He didn't need his brain. Brains were _overrated_.

Distantly, someone was mumbling instructions to him. He was going to take them and follow them seriously; it was of extremely important that he do so. But right now, Hadwyn was blissfully out of his mind, and it was such a great place to be.

Ginny fell in to an all-consuming despair, one so deep she could hardly keep her face from falling anytime she was in the presence of her parents or brothers.

She managed, however, to keep up appearances by leaving her room a few times every day for at least a half hour at a time and eating just enough during meals to keep her mother as blissfully unaware of her inner turmoil as possible. But when she was alone, she crept into herself, far enough to find a familiar, haunted place that she'd visited so many times at the age of eleven, a place so hard to climb out of that she didn't bother trying to anymore.

Reeling in her anguish was going to get _much_ harder, for that very morning, she finished going through the books Hadwyn had sent her, and almost unraveled when she shut the last unhelpful tome.

She had _nothing_.

She stared at the calendar on her desk. It was May 13th. Today was the day. She had to tell her parents she was being charged for underage magic, or Fleur would do it for her.

_Maybe she won't, _Ginny thought desperately. _Maybe she's bluffing. Maybe I have more time…_

She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling very alone, and wishing (not for the first time) that Harry were here.

Ginny acknowledged everyone at breakfast half an hour later with a noncommittal grunt and took her usual seat between her mother and Fleur. She poured herself a bowl of cereal and stretched across the table for a slice of buttered toast. In the process of reaching for the marmalade, she noticed that every eye was watching her warily.

"What?" She grimaced when her voice cut through the thick silence. The tension within the room unexpectedly rose, and her stomach lurched. She felt like she was going to be sick.

Something was wrong.

Mum turned to gaze at her tenderly, and placed a gentle hand on her arm. "Your father and I discussed burning today's_ Prophet _on pure principle, but we agreed that it would be best if you saw…"

"Is… is Harry okay?" she asked, hating how distressed she sounded.

"He's better than okay," George said, his mouth twisted in an unpleasant smirk.

Dad threw George a look and handed the newspaper to Ginny.

_**THE MANY WOMEN OF HARRY POTTER**_

_**By Rita Skeeter**_

Ginny's heart seized within her chest, cracking as it turned to ice. She stared down at the front page, half of which was plastered with photo upon photo of Harry. In one, he was dancing uncomfortably with Parvati Patil at the Yule Ball, in another, he was holding Cho Chang's hand on their disastrous trip to Hogsmeade. There was a photo of Harry and Luna at Slughorn's Christmas party, then one of Harry and Hermione hugging after the Battle of Hogwarts.

She inhaled sharply when she saw herself and Harry, tangled up in each other after Fred's funeral, when she'd twisted her ankle trying to hurry into the Ministry car. Her hands were shaking as she read the caption,

_Ginny Weasley, daughter of Arthur Weasley (the newly reinstated Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office), takes advantage of the little time she has alone with Harry Potter after the funeral of her late brother, co-founder of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, Fred Weasley._

"You'd think they'd have something better to report on."

"They'll do anything to sell papers."

She felt something sharp stab her right between her ribs, and she only glanced further down the article, at the pictures of Harry leaving a broom closet with a very pretty Auror, and another of him sitting beside a French model, before she stood up from her seat, trembling all over. She had to get out of there before she burst.

"Ginny?" her mother started cautiously.

The teakettle on the stove top shattered and the low fire in the hearth roared to life, licking the mantle and spewing sparks into the very air.

"Ginny, calm _down_." Fleur stood beside her, her cool hand curling gently around her arm.

She pulled roughly away, and let go of the little control she had left.

The flames grew larger. The teacups on the table started to rattle and explode.

She was vaguely aware of her father pulling Mum and Fleur into the relative safety of the stairwell, and Bill and Charlie were battling the flames. George was still sitting at the table, eyes blank, unmoving, unseeing.

A pair of thin but warm arms enveloped her, distantly familiar but altogether strange. The inferno building within her instantly snuffed out, and she sucked a ragged breath through cracked lips.

"Ginny," Percy said, pulling her tightly against him. "Ginny, snap out of it."

She didn't know how long she sobbed onto the shoulder of Percy's clean and pressed Ministry robes, but it felt like forever. Her head was throbbing, eyes still burning, and she felt like she'd run a marathon by the time she'd run out of tears to shed.

"What's gotten into you?" Charlie asked her quietly. Through watery eyes, Ginny noticed that he was covered in soot.

She didn't say anything for a long time. The flames had died down, and the tea set was put together with one swift wave of her father's wand.

She pulled herself away from Percy and whispered just loud enough for everyone to hear, "I miss Fred. And I miss Harry. And I'm s-so, _so_ sorry, Dad." She turned to her father. He was an arm's length away, and he was gazing at her with nothing but concern. "I did something stupid."

"Fuck," Harry groaned, throwing the paper back at his partner. She was laughing. "What is _wrong_ with you?"

But she did not hear him. She wiped tears of mirth from her eyes. "I can't wait to show this around," Verena managed before falling into another fit of giggles.

"Why's that, Vitali?" Edith said, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair so that it balanced on two legs. "Wish what they're implying is true?"

Verena's face flushed red, but not from embarrassment. "Shut it, Gwerder!"

"You first!" Edith snapped.

He looked over at Thomas Snell, the only other sane person in the room as far as Harry was concerned. Thomas met his eye and grimaced.

They were on the outskirts of an Italian coastal village not far from the French border, in a Ministry grade tent (much to Harry's chagrin). The team got along well enough for the most part, and they had to, for they spent almost every waking hour together, but for whatever reason, the two females of the group had taken to sniping at each other over the last couple of days, and it was starting to grate on his nerves.

"Do you think," Thomas leaned over to whisper, "that it's hit them at the same time?"

"What's that?" he asked.

Thomas wrinkled his nose. "_You _know…"

After a short moment, in which Harry realized exactly what Thomas was suggesting, he repeated, "Fuck."

Thankfully, his lunch hour was coming to a swift close. Harry stuffed the rest of his sandwich into his mouth and hurried to the boots he'd hastily removed by the entrance of the tent. After slipping them back on to his aching feet, he summoned his Auror robes from the room he shared with Verena and tugged them on.

He didn't have to wait long for his partner to join him at the sideboard with their Portkey.

"Are you ready?" she asked him impatiently.

"I was waiting on you," he said, raising an eyebrow at her.

She glared at him and reached for the deck of unwrapped tarot cards.

"See you in half an hour," Harry called to the other two.

"Good luck," Thomas said.

Verena glared at him and opened her mouth to respond, but Harry quickly grabbed the Portkey, activating it and sending them tumbling through time and space with an unpleasant yank behind their navels.

They landed less than a minute later in a small, empty room just beside the training facility at the French Ministry of Magic.

Verena promptly rounded on him. "What is wrong with you?"

Harry didn't know whether to ignore her or throttle her. "With _me_?" he finally said, unable to contain himself. "Pull it together, Vitali. _You're_ the problem."

"Me?!" she shouted. Harry shushed her, and she looked scandalized. "_Me_?" she said again, this time in a low hiss. "I haven't done anything wrong!"

He was near the door, more than ready to leave her there. He was not in the mood to argue with her, and he honestly did not want to know what her problem was, especially if it was that of the female inclination. What he wanted was to start training, so that they could _finish _at a reasonable hour, but if he had to be on the receiving end of her nastier than normal fireball charm during dueling practice, he'd rather she be in a relatively genial mood.

So, instead, Harry found himself scraping his fingers through his hair and turning to face her.

"What's this really about?"

She stared at him, dumbfounded. "This- this isn't about anything. Just… Gwerder… she's such a… she's _such_ a…"

"Is this about being caught after curfew?"

"What?"

"Two nights ago, Savage caught you sneaking back into the tent at one in the morning."

He watched her carefully, as a dozen emotions flittered across her face, some harder to catch than others. She mostly looked terrified.

"How did you know about that?" she asked so faintly, he strained to hear her.

Harry shrugged. "I noticed you had your shoes on when we got into bed. Did you really think I wouldn't notice?" He didn't wait for her to respond. "What were you doing?"

"It's none of your business," she snapped.

She was pushing him away from the door when he admitted quietly, "I followed you."

Verena stopped with her hand on the knob. She turned back to face him, and she was paler than he'd ever seen her. "You couldn't have. I covered my tracks. I double- _triple _checked my back."

"Perhaps you could pick up some more tips from Castle next time you see him?"

The night she'd snuck out after curfew, Harry followed her closely beneath the cover of his trusty Invisibility Cloak. He hadn't been sure of Verena's intentions- she'd been acting a little more than standoffish since he'd met her- until he'd almost bumped straight into Rylan Castle, Head of Stealth and Tracking, under a heavy disillusionment charm.

Verena looked horrified. "Harry, please, _please _don't say anything."

Conscious of the fact that she'd used his given name for the first time, he only protested gruffly, "You know it's against the rules."

"I love him."

"It's dangerous."

"I don't care."

He thought of Ginny, about the day he'd broken things off with her, and he felt like he was going to be sick.

"Fine," he bit out, turning to leave the room.

He threw himself into training, jogging around the track, lost in his thoughts and running further ahead any time Verena caught up to him. He wondered what would have happened if he'd caved into Ginny. Would he have been able to keep her safe? Would she have been able to defend herself?

_She still has the Trace on her._

He imagined her conjuring a simple shield charm, and Death Eaters swarming around her… He shook his head, dispelling the vision as his the muscles in his chest clenched painfully.

When Edith and Thomas met up with them for the dueling simulation, they must've sensed he wasn't up for conversation, and kept a healthy distance away from him. His offensive spells were on point, perhaps because he was a little angry, but for once, defensively, he was more than a little shaky.

"You're mad at me," Verena said to him later on, cornering him in the changing room.

"Bugger off," he bit out, his cheek still aching from the Stinging Hex he'd caught straight to the face. "I'm not mad. Would you turn around?"

She did, and Harry finished undressing, took off his glasses and hurried into the shower. He heard the door open and close and after a few minutes of peace, he sighed. She must've left.

He rested his forehead gently on the cool tile of the single shower stall and thought again of Ginny, of her bright red hair spilling onto his lap and how remarkably soft it was every time he ran his hands through it, of her smiling eyes looking up at him…

His fingers twitched, and the bar of soap he'd been holding slipped out of his hand. He knocked his head several deliberate times into the wall, and turned the hot tap off.

_Cold shower it is._

Harry was dressed and collecting his things when Thomas entered the changing room, still panting from his five mile run.

"Someone's waiting out there for you," Snell said after a moment, toeing off his shoes and simultaneously disrobing, almost falling over in the process.

"Is it Vitali? Because I've said everything—"

"No," Thomas said. "Well, yes, she's out there. But some bloke in Ministry robes is, too. What did you do now, eh?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "They probably just want me to sign some legal documents."

"What was the last one about again?"

He furrowed his brows in thought. "I think I had to sign off on my statement for the investigation on Severus Snape."

Thomas shook his head, removing his wand and its holster with a flick of his wrist. "No, that was at the beginning of the week, before we'd even left for Italy."

"Hmm, maybe the deposition for the Malfoy trial?"

"I wasn't there for that one," Thomas pointed out, gathering his towel. He paused. "Are you on all the high profile cases?"

Harry forced a thin smile. "It seems that way."

"Better you than me."

"Thanks, Snell," he said dryly.

"Anytime, Potter."

Harry finished packing his things, and left the changing room with his hair still dripping down the back of his neck. He noticed at once that Verena was waiting for him by the bench just across the corridor, upon which none other than Percy Weasley sat. He hurried forward.

"Percy," Harry greeted, meeting Ginny's brother halfway and shaking the man's hand warmly. "What's up?"

He blanched, and Harry's heart sank to the pit of his stomach. "I need your help."


End file.
